ELF, Extraterrestrial Lifeform
by Shujin1
Summary: In which Taylor is an Eldar farseer and gives Piggot headaches.
1. Chapter 1

**_E.L.F_**

The ocean was hungry. As soon as I thought that, I knew I was dreaming. That didn't change the fact that I could feel the turbulence, shifting currents and waves like a sixth sense pressing into my head. The dream was vivid. I was sprinting through the corpse of a city with my armor clinging to me like a second skin. It was raining. The fabric fluttered in the thick air. I could feel the drops of water pelt my hair and slide down my face just like I could feel the dull throb of a cut I had on my head. I raised my hand to it and felt the hard crystallized scab.

_Good._ I adjusted my grip on my spear. Blinking blood out of my eyes was always annoying. A shift in the current, and I leaned to the side. A flash seared past me, leaving behind the stink of ozone. The forms of people in power armor like most Tinkers only dreamed of were the vanguard. Swooping forms with wings, soldiers in hard crimson carapaces and squatter figures crawling shattered skyscrapers one moment, gone the next.

I watched the firing lines of men in Kevlar jackets wielding rifles that spat lasers shatter.

_Straight through_, I thought and that thought had a weight that pushed at the ocean. I felt, more than saw the nods of those at my back. A shift, again, and I leaped straight up already reaching. The low whine of a jet buffeted my ears and I gritted my teeth at the painful jerk as I caught on to the bottom of the jetbike.

The vehicle tilted, just enough. The bike's cannon shot. A hailstorm of razor sharp disks perforated the regrouping flank. Limbs, torsos, heads severed. A few of the shorter ones with large, bulbous modules on their backs and extra arms on their armor that made them look like bugs blinked in among the survivors.

My ear piece hummed. "No farseers on my bike. You're throwing off Anosil's aim."

That was a bold lie. I could feel the gunner's amusement as he easily adjusted, and fired at what he'd originally been aiming at. I snorted. "You're welcome."

Up here, the view was far from idyllic but I still felt a certain kind of peace. A heavy and decisive peace. The men in Kevlar uniforms were a stubborn holding action with a fraction of the numbers they might have had if we had waited. They would lose. Minimal deaths.

A knot of pandemonium caught my attention. A single man in Kevlar armor expertly wielding a thick saber in hand, pistol in the other was holding off two women in bone white armor, red plumes on the back of their helmets. I felt a frown tug at my lips and a note of dissatisfaction.

"Tomas Harkin," I sighed.

Shift, again.

I let go.

I woke up with a gasp. The air was uncomfortably warm and humid. No matter how many times I blinked, I still couldn't see anything. Up, down and diagonal were completely academic for one disorienting moment before I realized that my back was resting against something cool and smooth that I also felt beneath my feet. I reached out with my hands and barely two feet away, my palms hit another smooth wall. Trapped. And just like that, the memories of everything that had happened before I fell asleep came rushing back in terrible, vivid clarity.

_I was still in the locker,_ was my first thought. My blood turned to ice and it suddenly became hard to breathe. I was suffocating.

I bucked like a wild animal and threw myself against the wall. My shoulder screamed as I bounced off it. I just went at it again with my hands. Clawing, pounding, kicking. I was dying. I was going to die if I did not get out!

The wall opened and I fell through the gap, sprawling out onto the school's linoleum floor and blinded by the light. I blinked the stars out of my eyes even as my stomach scrunched up so hard, I swore I was on the verge of throwing up. I could feel the floor on that bare skin of my thighs and hips. A glance down revealed the truth. I was on the floor in the middle of the school hallway as naked as the day I was born._ Fuck. Shit._ Mortified, I looked up.

_Double fuck!_

Staring at me wasn't a crowd of high school students, but two men in what was clearly PRT issue body armor behind a police line. The strip of bright yellow didn't bother me, they did. What the fuck were the PRT doing here? Why were they here? My heart lept into my throat as I imagined more people seeing me like this, after that.

PRT stands for Parahuman Response Team.

The one on the right lifted their hand and what was clearly a radio.

_No!_

He froze as I scrambled backwards, fighting my own limbs to get onto my feet. I was not entirely sure what exactly I feared happening, but the facts were in front of my face. No one had gotten me out of that locker. The PRT blocked off the site, no one else around. I glanced to where I knew my locker was. What I saw instead was a protruding bone white growth, and the hole I had fallen out of.

_Not me, that wasn't me,_ my mind gibbered almost hysterically, almost willing them to believe me. More than having no clothing, I felt exposed like I never had before. I needed to not be here, so without even thinking about the consequences I turned and ducked under the police line. I ran.

The end of the hallway came up a lot faster that I thought it would. I slammed through the door and took a moment to breathe. The lights were off here, but still enough for me to see clearly. I listened for any hint of being followed and heard nothing but the low droning from the nearby radiator. Heating was still on, explained why I wasn't currently freezing my ass off.

I quickly skirted through the halls with hands over my chest and privates. This must have been what Greg felt like when the other guys stole his clothes after gym and made him run for it. I really, really, didn't want to see any of the janitors right now. The way my heart was pounding in my chest, I felt like I might literally die of embarrassment.

My first destination was the gym for my other locker. The small one that held my gym clothes. I didn't make a habit of stashing underwear, but pants and a shirt sounded like a good idea. I crept in, electing not to turn on the lights. I could still see perfectly. All the lights would do was tell someone I was in here. I spun my combination lock once before I finally took a good look at my hands.

Clean. How was I clean after all that filth? The second thing that I noticed was the length of my fingers. _These were not my hands_. I dropped the lock to run for the bathroom and the mirror above the sink in it. Two steps into the room and I saw my reflection. I gasped, grabbing onto the sink as my legs threatened to give out. The door fell back on itself with a bang, but I found it hard to even care about the noise.

_That was not my face._

I'd never been a particularly pretty girl but the face in the mirror was pretty in a way that made my skin crawl. She had cat eyes, large and almond shaped on a slant that matched her cheekbones. There was a sharp chin, small mouth and straight brown hair that did nothing to hide the pointed ears rising from the sides of her head. The girl in the mirror raised a hand to them, and I felt my fingers brush the tip. The only thing I recognized was my father's green eyes. I choked on the cry.

I was a motherfucking elf.

I ran back to the locker room and just, tried not to think about anything but getting clothes and getting out of the school. I spun through my combination and breathed a small sigh of relief as I pulled my gym pants and T-shirt out. No socks, but I had my other sneakers. I had to squeeze into my shirt as other differences made themselves known. My shoulders were a bit broader and my chest, by that I mean my rib cage, wasn't quite as thin? Not barrel chested, but different and I think I went up a cup size.

My pants didn't fit on me like I was used to but at least they were the right length. The unfortunate belly I had was completely gone. I pulled the strings tight. At least, some good was coming out of this mess. My feet were smaller, but not so much that my sneakers were uncomfortable. Alright, now to get out of here.

I went to the gym doors and put a hand on the push handle of the metal double doors that led out to the parking lot. I stopped as my stomach dipped a little. I pulled back. What had I been thinking? The PRT was definitely parked in front of the building and were probably watching all of the main exits if they weren't already scouring the school for me. There were only so many places I could go.

I could turn myself in. I should turn myself in. I didn't exactly make the best first impression, but elf. All they had to do was ask whose locker just got covered in bone, and they had me. What else was I going to do? Go home looking like this? The fuck was I going to tell my Dad?

Shit, Dad. How long had I been trapped? Hours? Days?

Had there been an investigation? Did the PRT know who did it? It should have been obvious to anyone that I didn't shove myself in the fucking locker, but I came out of it like this. There was only one explanation and the reason why the PRT was here. I was a parahuman. I had powers.

Being an elf wasn't the greatest power in the world. Maybe I could change shape? I stood there for a few minutes, eyes closed, and thinking of what I used to look like. Wide mouth, lanky, a bit of a long nose and my hair had a curl to it. I spared a moment to think of my vanished glasses, but when I opened my eyes one look at my hands told me nothing had changed. I couldn't hide.

Fuck.

No good options, only less bad. I let out a shaky sigh and pushed open the door. Light blinded me again, but in a few seconds of blinking my view cleared. Fast. Another difference. The parking lot was home to two of the white PRT vans and four people in body armor approached me cautiously, large guns with large barrels up. I put my hands up.

"I – I'm not going to cause trouble." I was already shaking like a leaf. I tried to swallow the fear, but it just bubbled right back up again. My heart was jack hammering. The armored woman in the center brought up her radio.

"Johnson, report in."

The radio crackled. "Johnson here."

The four exchanged looks and my stomach dipped again. "Status of the locker?"

"Uh – shit!" The silence between was tense. "Containment broken, I repeat, containment broken."

"See anyone?" The woman barked.

"Yes, ma'am. Brown haired girl, couldn't get a good look. Took off running."

"Why didn't you call it in?"

Johnson's reply was swift. "Wasn't her."

The floor fell out from under me. What? I could clearly remember my panicked thoughts, begging. Not me, wasn't me. And they hadn't run after me. For all I knew they were still standing there in front of my locker, and it was my fault. My eyes prickled with frustrated tears no matter how many times I tried to school my face. It was like I had no control over myself anymore. Of all the stupid powers I could have gotten, I got one that turned me into a mind controlling Lord of the Rings reject!?

"Johnson, Adams, Master Stranger protocol!" They surrounded me, guns trained on me. Intellectually, I knew they were probably containment foam launchers but it was hard to feel calm with barrels and triggers pointed at me. It was hard to feel calm, period.

"I didn't mean to." That was my only defense. I should have run.

The only indication the woman in charge gave that she heard me was a nod. "Please accompany us to the van."

Yeah, at this point, it wasn't like I had a choice.

* * *

It was not the most comfortable van ride I've ever had.

I was sandwiched between two PRT troopers in the back section, behind the steel net and what was probably bulletproof glass divider while wearing gym pants, shoes with no socks and an ill-fitting T-shirt. The atmosphere was tense, unsurprisingly. My shirt was chafing my arm pits and the woman officer had a bench to herself right across from me. Strange as it sounds, that was bothering me the most. The lack of personal space and that it could have been resolved if either one of my bench buddies had decided to sit on the other side.

I used to be a touchy-feely kind of person. Handshakes, pats on the back, the usual stuff. I can clearly recall Mom's – and Emma's – brands of enthusiastic hugs and my Dad used to have the habit of kissing my hair. Things changed. I haven't given anyone a handshake in months. Still, I don't remember being exactly antsy about it. Worried I was going to get a pencil to the gut or shoved into the wall, yes. Antsy?

Another one for the list, I thought. I had palm lines, but they were in a completely different configuration and paler. My skin was soft like I came straight out of five-star spa treatment and hairless. The protruding tendons by my ankles looked like they were shaped strangely on top of being here instead of there. My ankles were the cause of my brainstorming session. Or to be more accurate, looking at my ankles had caused my brainstorming.

I was the typical unfit fifteen-year-old girl. The extent of my physical exercise was gym class twice a week. Before dodge ball, badminton, running around the football field or whatever torture was on the curriculum that day, there was stretches. They were supposed to prevent us from hurting ourselves. I was leggy, and not in the good way. Touching my toes while standing was likely to hospitalize me.

I'd twisted my leg into a half pretzel trying to get a better look at my ankle before one of the troopers coughed. Trying to ignore the stares I knew they were giving me, I'd put my leg down and I didn't even have the slightest twinge of pain. My toes rubbing against the side of my sneaker caused more discomfort than bending my knee half out of joint. A quick test of my fingers confirmed that I was ridiculously more flexible now than I had ever been.

So what else about me was different? If I was going to be stuck like this, I needed to know how deep it went. My ears could probably be altered back to human standard round and my face proportions corrected with cosmetic surgery. That was just me wishing though. We'd never be able to afford it. My heart was still beating fast. Not as fast as it had, but still noticeably quicker than usual. Stress, probably but I wasn't going to rule it out. I had 20/20 vision, better than 20/20. Now that I was paying attention to it, everything around me looked uneven. Straight lines, weren't. I could see the pores and hairs on the troopers as if I was zoomed in on high definition all the time. I could see the individual fibers of my shirt with such clarity that I almost looked fuzzy. If I had to describe it, it's like I was seeing pixelation in real life. Imperfections glared out at me. My emotions were like a buoy on a stormy ocean, and I could mess with people's minds.

This was the new me, pros and cons, inside and out.

"What's going to happen to me?"

The officer's hair was probably brown to match her eyebrows but that was all I could really see under the bowl like helmet the PRT shared with SWAT. She had on sunglasses and a plaid scarf against the cold that I wasn't feeling.

"We must confirm how compromised our troopers are."

I think she phrased that as diplomatically as possible, but I still cringed. If it turned out that it wasn't a temporary effect and that I had those two men under my control permanently? My breathing hitched as the tension in the van tightened like a stressed violin sting. As we stopped at a red light, I averted my face feeling like I could fall down a pit of shame. I bit the inside of my cheek, hard. My blood didn't taste metallic; it was strangely sweet. I inhaled through my nose, and exhaled out my mouth a few times. The downward spiral had stopped, maybe even reversed a bit.

Okay, so permanent. Well, they probably lost their jobs. I didn't know if there was a pension or something for casualties of parahuman abilities. As for me, it would mean no leniency. God, I hoped it wasn't permanent.

"And after?"

"Are you Taylor Hebert?" So they had figured me out. I nodded and the woman gave me a bit of a reassuring smile. "We'll get in touch with your father. He's been worried sick about you."

How my father would react to seeing me was not something I wanted to think about. My own reaction was bad enough, how much worse would it be to see him looking at me like I was a total stranger with his daughter's memories?

"Yeah, that would be great," I said, unconvincing even to my own pointy ears.

"When they arrive on site, you'll be invited to talk with Director Piggot and senior members of the Protectorate about your options."

What even were my options? I doubt anyone wanted a Ward that could mess with their heads, so what was left? Jail? I hadn't been clapped in handcuffs and had my rights read out to me, so I hadn't been arrested yet. And maybe. I chewed my lip.

Maybe they weren't going to. "My options?"

She shook her head. "I don't know all the details on how the department operates. I don't want to say something now that will be untrue later."

Fluid, I thought. I'm not sure why, but the more I thought about that strange thought, the more I agreed. Set standards or procedures, the PRT troopers would know those even if just by precedent. I wasn't the only teenage parahuman in Brockton Bay, and I probably wouldn't be the last. Case by case basis? I knew there were a few rumors online about Shadow Stalker of the Wards. Her time as a solo vigilante and then why, suddenly, she was being debuted as a new Ward. Not sure how much I believed, but it made me think.

Thinking was good. Think more, feel less.

"You said, senior Protectorate members?" I couldn't kill the grin that formed on my face. "Like Armsmaster?" Of all the government sponsored heroes here in Brockton Bay, he was my favorite. No super strength, super durability or natural weaponry. Everything he accomplished, he built from his own two hands. How was that not awesome? I even had Armsmaster underwear!

Wait. No, oh god, _anyone but Armsmaster._

The officer's lips quirked. "No promises, but it is likely."

Goddammit!

I ducked my head, well aware that my face was probably a lobster red that wasn't going to fade any time soon. The trooper on my right chuckled and I could almost physically feel the tension break. I passed some kind of test. It was the Armsmaster thing, I guessed. Maybe they liked the guy?

No, because I did. Said good things about my inclinations. It would be different if I was a fan of, say Leet and Uber instead.

"Can I have names?" Came out of my mouth without my input. "I'm Taylor and I'm…calling you officer, trooper one and trooper two in my head and it's kind of…?"

The silence after my question only lasted a heartbeat.

"Rodriguez," said the trooper to my right that had laughed earlier. He was about my height, tanned with dark eyebrows. No scarf, but he did have gloves on.

"Brabant," the man on my left said and he had an accent to go with it. I pointed a finger at him.

"You didn't pick that up in the Bay, did you?"

He flashed a pearly white grin at me. Lighter brown eyebrows, and he was bundled up. Scarf, head covering under the helmet, gloves and a turtleneck underneath the body armor. "St. Louis."

That was quite a way away. Brockton Bay was New England through and through. Maybe he got transferred for one reason or another. I really couldn't imagine anyone moving into this pit without a solid incentive.

"Bernard," officer finished. "Should be arriving any minute now." As if agreeing with her words, the van took a sharp right turn slow and then another right that went down a ramp. "Any more questions?"

A few. "How long was I…" I waved a hand in the air vaguely.

"Five days."

Better than I feared, worse than I hoped. That was nearly a week, Dad must be pulling out his hair by now. Had he reported me missing? Had the school been closed? Thinking of school just made me realize: everyone already knew. Someone must have known that I was missing from class, and when that bone started growing out of my locker, someone must have called it in. PRT officers arriving, quarantining the area with the police tape and troopers, it must have been a spectacle.

Emma probably knows I had powers. I would gladly sit in a cell if it meant I didn't have to go back to Winslow High.

Bernard's radio crackled. "We're ready for you, come on in. Stand by for parahuman escort."

The van whined to a stop and the back door opened. I was ready for the light this time, closing my eyes so it just shined through my eyelids before opening them again. The PRT personnel got out first. Rodriguez bumped my shoulder.

"Nothin' to worry 'bout."

Then I climbed out, focusing on just breathing. I could feel the knot of panic and paranoia threatening to bubble up from the pits of my stomach as I took in troopers wearing exoskeletons, riot masks and foam canisters on bandoleers. Something in my head popped, and I swayed. My hands shook. A year of constant bullying, being on the bottom of the totem pole had atrophied what little social skills I had. I always felt too awkward or embarrassed, or didn't belong.

For how strongly I felt now, there hadn't been a shred of that in the van. What was that?

"Easy," someone said. I didn't recognize the voice.

I think I hated my loss of control just as much as I hated my mind fucking ability. More even, maybe. I took deep breaths, trying not to feel like I needed a paper bag. I – I needed a better shirt. I was choking.

"Can I get a new shirt?" My voice warbled. That's the only reason I noticed it too was different. Christ, did I have anything left?

Think more, feel less.

"I can get you something," a female trooper I didn't know told me softly. Blonde, pale skin. "Follow me, please?"

We were in the basement of the PRT building. An underground garage with a sturdy steel door and holding the white PRT vans and a few interceptor cars. The officers I had rode with and the ones that I had…influenced had gone ahead. The only evidence were the keys, radios and wallets left behind in a plastic bin before the series of doors that made my skin prickle. I occupied myself with watching the walls and doors, taking in the white and grey paint job over large bricks as well as the number of times we turned.

I got a small room. Bed, desk and a chair with an attached bathroom. I sat on the bed.

The blonde trooper came back with a large Miss Militia T-shirt and star spangled socks, as well as an Aegis hoodie that I took gratefully. She smiled at me.

"If you need anything, just press the button by the door, alright?" I nodded. Locked door, electronic, room was probably soundproofed? Had to be monitored, listening devices, hidden camera. The roiling pit hadn't calmed but I was keeping it in check.

Once she left, I put on my new clothes in the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror. I raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Okay, that expression fit my new face really well, but so did a small smile. Alright. Okay. Fine.

I could do this.

Just relax.

* * *

I could hear footsteps approaching my room.

Whoever it was broke off from a group of three, slightly off balance…forwards? Carrying something? Irregular steps, like a slight limp, their right foot came down harder than their left but still light, smaller person. Female? Jingling, loud so it wasn't in their pocket and the telltale scrape of metal against metal. Carabiner holding keys? I knew by now what the PRT armor sounded like and it was missing, plain clothes officer. My ears didn't twitch like a dog's while doing this, thank god for small mercies. That would have been one indignity too far.

They stopped walking and a few seconds later, I heard three quiet, but firm knocks on the door. "Taylor?"

Woman, same one from before but she took off her body armor. I felt the pleased smile on my face as I opened my eyes. The room was upside down. No muscle fatigue yet or blood rushing to my head.

"Yup!" I called back as I scissored my legs back together. A few breaths to control my giddiness before it got away from me, then I stood up. What girl doesn't wish she could do splits at some point in their lives? Just to test myself as I couldn't in the van, I did a standing split against the wall and then bent backwards until I could lay my palms against the floor. Too easy. I went through all the gymnastic poses I could think of. My balance was great, and well, I know double jointed is a thing. Is triple jointed a thing? It was now.

There was just something great about doing things you know should have you screaming in agony.

"We thought you'd be a bit hungry." There was a buzz and the metal shutters over the small window on the door pulled back. A lunch tray was slid through the gap onto the metal slab that was bolted to the inside.

Thinking about it, I was a bit hungry like I could nibble on something. Considering I haven't eaten in five days, that was a bit weird. I grabbed the tray. It was Taco Tuesday with a kind of siesta salad, sliced orange and a lemonade Capri Sun. Normal stuff, so what was I smelling? I sniffed a few times. Something…artificial. The meat?

I swallowed, and decided to give the PRT cooks the benefit of a doubt. "Thanks."

After I moved the tray, the officer slipped what looked a lot like a laptop through. I put dinner on the desk and grabbed the computer. "It's just a few basic questions. Name, birth date, next of kin, last thing you remember before the incident," she said in a hopeful, upbeat tone. "What you've noticed about yourself, things like that."

"I can do that." I hope they weren't expecting clear answers about the mind screw thing. 'Avoid thinking hard at people' was about all I had.

"Your father's here." My heart jumped into my throat. "He's talking with the Deputy Director right now but you should be able to speak with him soon. The laptop has WIFI while you wait. Sound good?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Hang in there a little longer, sweetheart."

I sat down cross-legged on the bed with the laptop. Flipping it open, I was greeted with a spinning blue and silver PRT logo. A grey progress bar filled up and the form the officer talked about showed up on the screen. I filled out my name, gender, DOB and essentials as I munched on black beans and corn from the salad before my curiosity got the better of me. I opened the browser and typed 'Winslow High' in the search bar. The first page instantly flooded with links to news articles dating 5 days ago to yesterday.

"Crap." I knew it. I knew I knew it. Seeing it confirmed just made me feel exhausted. I clicked on the video link of a male reporter in front of the school thumbnail.

The first thing I heard was the granulated sound of high wind from the small speakers. A newspaper whipped across the sidewalk. "This is Ryan Shannegh of Daily News out here in the eye of the storm at Winslow High School in Brockton Bay!" I raised an eyebrow. That didn't sound good. "I know all of you can see it, but just – just look at this, Maron!"

The camera man swung the camera up.

There was a hurricane above my school. Dark purple storm clouds as far as the camera could see swirled above the city. The video panned back and forth a few times as the reporter chattered in the background. Instead of creating a vortex like a tornado, the clouds just didn't go any further. They curved up instead creating a tunnel as the eye of the storm. The eye must have been a few blocks across but if anyone was curious about where the exact center was, pale rippling energy like lightning arced down above the school. Looking at it sent a small shiver down my spine. Not out of fear, but it was like I just had a déjà vu without knowing what about. I guess this explained why everyone was so cautious.

And then I come out of the locker and control people. They must have been terrified I was going to go Carrie on everyone. I skipped ahead in the video.

A second after it started playing again, my yearbook picture was on the screen. "Preliminary reports suggest that this phenomenon is actually centered around the locker of Taylor Hebert, fifteen-year-old girl who was missing from afternoon classes and discovered to have actually been locked in her locker by unknown individuals."

Unknown!? The sheer rage I felt swept over me like a wave, drowning me. I couldn't move. I couldn't think. I could barely breathe. I almost blacked out.

There was a crunch and a louder pop.

I reflexively pried my fingers apart but there was nothing in my hands. I looked down in my lap and found the laptop crushed into a sparking ball of melted plastic and metal. "Wha – " Something in the computer chose that moment to burst into flame. "Shit!"

Some vague idea about getting battery acid on my pants had me jumping to my feet. Which was stupid, because it was on fire. The laptop ball tumbled out of my lap and with a burst of anxiety, I caught it with my knee. I don't even know why I bothered. It was already broken. I stood there on one leg, balancing the laptop on the other as the fire died down and just tried to breathe. The flip from outrage to shock left me feeling lightheaded. Or maybe it was the fact that I had apparently turned into an elf ninja on top of everyfuckingthing else that did that.

Inhale. Exhale. I had started crying again, for the second time in a half an hour. I'd always wanted powers. Ever since I was little tying towels around my neck and pretending I was Alexandria. Now that I had them, I was wishing I could throw them away.

I needed to think about something.

I wiped away my tears and gingerly plucked the laptop ball from my knee. It wasn't even warm to the touch so I deposited it on the desk. It was metal with varnished wood pulp designed to look like planks on top. If I was just resistant to higher temperatures like I was to cold, at least it wouldn't destroy much there. From what I could see it was crushed evenly, which was a bit strange in and of itself. Thicker sections like the keyboard would need more force to crush in compared to the screen but the sphere was just about perfect. The plastic had melted evenly too. Either the heat source was also evenly distributed, or it hadn't been heat.

I sighed. Get scared, mind fuck people. Get angry, break shit. I had a very promising career as a hero in front of me.

I went over to the door and hit the button. The intercom cracked.

"Taylor Hebert." A man said in clipped, brusque tones. "I see you require another laptop."

That would be one way to put it. So, camera. I hoped there wasn't one in the bathroom. I bit my lip. "Yes, sorry."

"I will requisition another one for you." I faintly heard the sound of typing. "Can you tell me what happened? You are not in trouble," he said quickly. "I am simply curious."

You and me both, buddy. "I got angry. I'm not sure what happened." I looked back at the ball of plastic. "But it wasn't super strength."

"I see. What had angered you?"

My forehead hit the wall above the speaker. Breathe. "No one came forward about who shoved me in that locker."

"Untrue." My eyebrows raised against the metal. "It took longer than was ideal, but are the names Emma Barnes, Madison Clements and Sophia Hess accurate?"

"Yes." My voice had a slight echo.

"I cannot share details about ongoing investigations, but what happened to you was no less than assault." Hearing someone else say that, someone else acknowledge that made me smile. "We are pushing for the harshest punishments feasible."

"Probably helps that it was very public," I muttered. I really had no illusions about how much it fucking took for anyone…to see me.

"Yes, it did."

I snorted. That's the way the shit cookie crumbles. "Did I hurt anyone?"

"Master Stranger protocols have a standard seventy-two-hour length – "

"No," I cut him off. And there was the guilt for that again. Thank you very much, officer. "I mean, the storm."

He paused. More typing. "The storm covered the entirety of the city limits up to roughly twenty thousand feet. Planes grounded, air traffic was circumvented to Portsmouth International. One plane crash, forty six casualties. Another plane has been reported missing along with its passengers."

I leaned against the wall and just listened. He had a nice voice, strong and nonjudgmental.

"I-95 was congested for several hours of public panic, minor incidents. Fourteen dead and over one hundred injured. The PRT and Protectorate handled cases of civil unrest in various populated areas."

"Okay."

The intercom crackled with the clothy rumble of an adjusting microphone, as if he was leaning in. "None of this is on you. This was done to you. You had no choice or control in the matter and as much a victim as those in the hospital, understand?"

He wanted me to believe him. I could feel that. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." I could hear the slight smile in his voice. "In approximately ten minutes, there will be an escort to take you to your father. Director Piggot is now on site and wishes to speak to you both."

Ten minutes to figure out exactly how I wanted this all the end. "Understood."

"Armsmaster, out."

Oh.

_That was Armsmaster?_


	2. Chapter 2

**_ELF_**

* * *

Forty-six casualties.

Fourteen dead.

My hands had started trembling shortly after I got over the embarrassment of unknowingly talking to Armsmaster. I sat on the bed, head against the wall as I struggled to breathe through quick, shallow gasps that sometimes strangled in my throat. Forty-six. I killed at least forty-six people. Armsmaster may not believe it was my fault, but still, it was my powers. I wouldn't forget that vision of a hurricane over Brockton Bay any time soon, and neither would anyone else.

Media shit storm.

Forty-six casualties.

Fourteen dead.

Fuck me.

I forced myself to take a deep breath and let it out slowly as I blinked stubborn tears away. I would not break down now. I refused to. I started hiccuping then. It was a stupid, minor annoyance, but it was such a normal problem in the face of everything else that I started laughing through my hiccups. Kurt, a family friend told me once that humor solved everything. It really didn't, it wasn't enough to fix all of this, but the nauseating mix of emotion no longer threatened to overwhelm me.

I ate the rest of my salad and picked up the orange slices. Biting into the first one surprised me. I didn't exactly have super taste so much as a super sweet tooth. If I didn't want super cavities, I was going to have to watch that. I finished it quickly, then washed my face and hands of any juicy leftovers. I had no interest in eating the tacos, and not just because of the artificial smell. Apparently, I didn't need to eat much despite going five days without. I poked the straw into the Capri Sun and sipped at it. It tasted like chemicals.

Think more, feel less. Easier said than done, but as mercurial as my moods were, some control was better than none. I was going to be okay.

Later, I heard my escort come down the short flight of stairs, two people wearing body armor before the intercom crackled to life. "Taylor, as circumstances have prevented you from submitting the form, I must ask you several questions concerning safety."

It was Armsmaster again. I smiled weakly and tried not to think about how, ironically, I was not wearing underwear under my gym pants. I quickly stuffed myself into my Aegis hoodie. "Ask away."

"Earlier, we discussed your power usage, and that it coincided with anger. Are you currently under significant emotional distress?"

Was that a serious que – no, what am I saying, it was and if he had asked it five minutes ago the answer definitely would have been yes. As it was? "Had better days, but I'll be fine."

"Do you feel you have control over your abilities?"

I was tempted to lie, but he'd been nothing but honest with me so far.

"I don't even know what all of my powers are." On the surface, there was nothing similar about the storm, the laptop, what happened to the agents, what happened to me in the van. There was only one common factor: me. "But I will do my best not to hurt anyone." Else.

He approved of my answer even if he didn't respond right away. "Accurate self-assessment is a good skill to nurture. We know the risks but in light of your cooperation," the door buzzed as the electronic lock opened. "I believe you."

Behind the door were two agents. One had his head bowed, hand to his right ear as he nodded while the other smiled at me. The blonde agent with the slight limp. A handler, I guessed. Someone familiar that I would feel comfortable with. It was probably one of the oldest tricks in the book, but it worked. She wasn't putting on much an act, just a genuinely nice person that wanted to help. I smiled back.

"What happened to your leg?" As her eyebrows inched up, my smile shifted to a smirk and I pointed at my ear. "Could hear it."

She shook her head in exasperation. "_Powers_." Not offended, or even that bothered. Her partner was less comfortable. I don't know if it's the way he stood with his back ramrod straight or the way that he stared like he knew he shouldn't take his eye off me that tipped me off, but I didn't like it. The woman beckoned me with a hand. "I'll tell you on the way."

"Names?" I asked as I stuffed my hands in my hoodie's front pocket.

"Annabelle." After a moment, she elbowed her partner.

He grunted. "Miller."

Annabelle was the only one to give me a first name so far.

"Nice to meet you both." I fell into step beside them. Pulling back the length of my stride was a bit awkward, but I got the hang of it. "So?"

"Right." Annabelle laughed. "It was in college, oh, twenty years back and over Christmas break I took a trip to the Alps with friends."

"Skiing?"

"Snowboarding! If you asked me anything, I would swear myself blue in the face that I knew what I was doing. And I did!" She laughed again. "Turns out the mountain knew better."

We got into the elevator where Miller silently pressed the button. We were on the first sub level and heading up to the second floor.

"It was a mild winter over there, Italy I mean, so up on the slopes it was half ice, half fresh snow which is really not a good combination." The doors closed with a ding as she chattered. The deluge was reminding me of better days in middle school. "We'd been up there all day, but I wanted just one more run even though it was getting dark and my friends wanted to go back to the hotel. I took the black diamond path, hardest course that went all the way to the base of the mountain. Never got there! Wiped on ice, broke three teeth, busted a lip, concussion and broke my ankle."

I winced as a sympathetic twinge ran down my right leg. "Never healed right?"

She shook her head. "Was up there for hours before my friends noticed I was taking too long. Had frostbite."

"Wow." We reached our destination with the usual stomach lurching stop. "That's – " The doors opened and my Dad was right there in the foyer. "Dad!"

"Taylor?" His head jerked away from the agent he'd been talking to. He looked terrible, like he dressed himself in the dark and then slept in it. Hair uncombed, bags under his eyes and he looked at me like he wasn't entirely sure where his daughter's voice had come from. My heart clenched painfully.

Yeah, that's what I'd been afraid of.

Annabelle gently pushed me out of the elevator with a hand on my back. "She's been through a lot, Mr. Hebert. Please."

"Taylor?" He repeated, his eyes tearing up. "I – "

I rushed forward and he met me with a giant hug that for once, I couldn't get enough of. I burst into tears in his shirt because I don't know if it was just because he was family that made me sensitive or that we were hugging but under my fingers I could feel my Dad bleeding grief like someone had just run him through with a rusty spike. It boiled over, chilling and burning me to the bone, and droplets were falling like ripples on a pond.

"It's me, Dad." I don't know who I was trying to convince. "It's me."

He just hugged me tighter.

* * *

"You have a delicate situation on your hands, Emily."

Emily Piggot, Director of the East-North-East branch of the Parahuman Response Team, snorted around her coffee mug. There really was nothing like caffeine, clusterfucks and understatements at _half past eleven at night_. Rebecca Costa-Brown didn't look any better, with hair gone fuzzy in the cool humidity of California in winter and creased floral dress shirt. The bags under her eyes were almost artful in how they emphasized just how much of a long week Costa-Brown had.

Emily had no sympathy. Brockton Bay was in fine fucking form lately. Spread the joy around.

"I don't want her in my Wards." Costa-Brown's eyebrows inched up in a wordless question. "We don't have the facilities, the budget or the personnel for a case like this. Not just – " she waved her mug at her office. "But the response. High level Shaker, at least."

"I'd advise keeping the Master Stranger rating quiet, for now."

That was a nice cherry on top of the shit sundae. "If I didn't, this whole city would go to hell in a hand basket."

"She'll scare the villains." Brown filled that sentence with so much derision, Emily could almost hear the words bounce off her floor.

It would be as if Legend made a habit of stopping by. The E88, ABB, the Merchants, etc. were so used to the balance of power and having run of the city that any threat to that would be like taking a toy from a spoiled child. Temper tantrums to prove that nothing had changed, that they weren't cowed or weak or whatever justifications deluded minds dreamed up. Give an inch, and they would take a mile. Push, and they would push back harder.

"She scares everybody."

"But she is cooperating, correct?"

"For now." That had been this week's highlight; that the media's darling 'Maelstrom' was not someone that needed to be hunted down and arrested. For now. She wasn't going to get her hopes up. That situation could turn on a polished dime.

"This is not someone we can just let loose. You know how much is riding on this, Emily. She must be in the Wards."

Except this wasn't Legend, but a teenage girl fresh off a trigger. Unstable, confused. Vulnerable.

"I know." Emily took another bitter sip of straight black coffee. "Can I count on assistance with the DA?" Because talking to lawyers never got any easier, especially when they were trying very hard to be absolutely fucking stupid on the government's behalf.

"I'm taking it out of your hands." Thank God. "I've taken the liberty of hiring representation for Hebert for all current and ongoing criminal cases. Trust your PR?"

"They do good work."

"I will leave that to you then. Do you mind if I speak to her and her father for a few minutes?"

Yes, she minded but she could also tell that wasn't a request. She hoisted herself from her seat with a stifled groan and straightened the bottom of her blouse and suit jacket. "By all means."

She walked out of her small office and knocked on her Deputy's door. "Room 24B is all set," he called back with the half muted volume that told her he was on the phone. At this time of night, it was probably his family.

"Thank you."

Time to get this fucking show on the road.

She arrived before they did, as planned. Making them wait was reserved for disciplinary action, letting the perp stew in imagined scenarios. The last thing she wanted was to increase anxiety levels here.

The girl's father was the tall, lanky type with a good eye for clothes he wasn't swimming in, sharp gunmetal grey glasses and thinning dark hair. He also looked about as tired as Emily felt with clothes so creased she suspected he slept in them and a protective hand on his daughter's shoulder. Taylor herself provoked a rare sympathetic twinge. Case 53s, often coined as 'monstrous' parahumans were those whose powers changed them to something profoundly inhuman. They had no memories, just a bowl or C shaped tattoo hinted at an origin.

From descriptions, Taylor Hebert had been tall and skinny like her father. That was all that stayed the same. She had the enviable hourglass figure, except her waist was a circumference Emily was certain would kill the average human being with hips that were similarly crushed together. Her dark eyes had been replaced with her father's green, in an alien cat eyed shape. Her proportions were too thin, too long, too sharp. If someone had told her the girl was missing memories and had a strange tattoo, she wouldn't have batted an eye. Not monstrous, but unsettling.

In a way, that she wasn't a Case53 was a shame. You can't miss what you can't remember.

Emily gestured towards the seats around the table with a refilled coffee mug. It was unremarkable as far as meeting rooms go, just a large rectangular room with a large rectangular table in the center and coffee machine in the back. The projector on the ceiling was on, but the screen behind her was mostly blank with just a smallish square in the bottom right corner occupied by Rebecca Costa-Brown's face.

"The Chief Director had a few things to say to both of you."

Taylor's vivid green eyes shifted between the faces before looking down with a bit of a chagrined expression. "Made a mess?"

"That's one way to put it," Costa-Brown said. "I'll be frank. Five days ago has been the worst setback of public opinion about parahumans for the past ten years."

Aggressive opening. Not that it wasn't true if a bit overstated, but aggressive. Emily leaned back in her chair, surreptitiously kicking off her shoes.

Danny Hebert got defensive, as she expected. His face reddened. "I find that hard to believe, with groups like the Nine around."

Countering one extreme statement with another rarely worked out well.

"Dad." Rather than being pleading or submissive like one would expect from a child addressing their angry parent, there was a tinge of command there that Danny responded to. He took in a breath with the look of someone counting, slowly, to ten.

"It is hard to believe," the Chief Director continued as if there had been no interruption. "But how often are the Nine on your mind in your day to day activities? How often do you consider your windows, or a bug going around?" Ah. Emily saw where she was going with this. As ironic as it sounded, the public was almost comfortable with villains like the Nine. Jack Slash was a crafty son of a bitch, and knew how to lay low and disappear.

Danny had figured it out too judging by his severe frown. Taylor was placid.

"The perception of control has always been a delicate balance. Five days ago, that shattered. The public now has evidence that all it takes is a prank gone wrong on the right person – " With impeccable theatrical timing, the larger screen was filled with a scene of the unnatural hurricane above Brockton Bay. "And we just lost a city."

The terror once reserved for Endbringers expanded to every potential trigger event was a fail condition for the PRT. They were far off from that yet. It was likely the knee jerk reactions would peter out and die when the media frenzy did, but in the meanwhile, it was a pain in the ass.

"The DA is considering pressing charges, and likely will."

Danny nearly leapt out of his chair. "They can't blame her for this!"

"I agree." Costa-Brown flashed Taylor a reassuring smile. "Unfortunately, it would not be about culpability, but about making an example of her. The storm lasted two days, and Taylor was interned for five. That is unusual for a trigger event by any standards and while we often excuse trigger event collateral due to trauma." She shrugged. "No one is happy with the idea of excusing a city's worth of collateral."

Technically speaking. Ellisburg was the aftermath of a protracted trigger event, Emily recalled. No, no one was happy with that idea at all.

Danny opened his mouth, but Taylor smoothly slipped in before he could speak. "How can I make this easier for you?"

Join the Wards, Emily thought, as much as she hated the idea. She did not need one more powder keg on the fire but if she had to. Well, considering how invested the Chief Director was in this, she might be able to swing some concessions and the additional resources to make this work.

"Join the Wards." Rebecca gave Emily a nod. "It is the purpose of the PRT to guide and train parahumans in responsible, legal use of their abilities. It would be an excellent first step in soothing fears."

Emily restrained herself from nodding vigorously. What she said, listen to her, couldn't have put it better myself, yadda yadda, etc., etc. Don't make this difficult for me.

Instead, Taylor frowned.

"Something…" She trailed off. A power at work, Emily assumed. Jesus H. Christ, how many abilities did the girl have? "Something about what you just said is not true."

The Directors looked at each other in mild confusion. "But it is?" Emily Piggot spoke up to Costa-Brown's defense. "New powers are frequently confusing until the particulars are figured out."

Taylor stared at her like she was a particularly clever dog that had just showed off a new trick she hadn't been expecting, and then there was a ripple of realization widening her eyes and shifting her gaze to Rebecca. "You know something she doesn't. About the PRT."

Costa-Brown took that accusation about as well as one would expect. "Emily is a _director_ – "

"I see…vials?" Taylor's distracted murmur brutally shut the Chief Director down. "Vials with labels. Aegis. Deus. Pyla – "

Rebecca Costa-Brown vanished, replaced by a blue screen and the obnoxious warble of a dropped connection.

In the silence that followed, Emily glared over the table at Danny who looked confused and Taylor, whose eyes were closed and her face pale. She brought up her own hand and pinched the bridge of her nose.

It was too late to toss the girl out and pretend this never happened, wasn't it?

Damn.

* * *

My chair screeched across the linoleum as I stood up. My two table mates, my Dad and Annabelle, both turned their attention from the paperwork strewn across the plastic surface. Miller started paying attention again from his post by the cafeteria doors. Even people without powers had a vague sense when someone was watching them, and a yearlong bullying campaign had particularly honed mine. I could feel when his eyes snapped to that spot on the back of my head like a tense rubber band.

"Everything okay?" Annabelle asked first. She had no idea what had happened during the short-lived meeting, aside from Director Piggot calling a break and locking herself in her office. No one was any closer to figuring out what to do with me, thanks to yours truly. My handler had taken one look at my face and that ended with us in the cafeteria with hot chocolate going over the standard employment pitch for the Wards.

Teenage government sponsored superheroes. The very group I might have just completely torpedoed my chance of getting into. With nuclear warheads.

_Tinkertech antimatter warheads._

"Yes," I managed to say evenly. "Just need to go to the bathroom."

Dad bobbed his head over his steaming mug, his hand squeezing mine under the table before letting go. I knew he was concerned about what had happened, less about my abilities and more what they meant for me but he didn't bring it up. It sounded bad, but we've had a lot of experience in just not talking about things we probably needed to. He didn't consciously make the decision, but he was going to stew silently in the implications to avoid worrying me.

My father and I were cut from the same cloth.

"Oh, right. I mean, right down the hall." Annabelle pointed, like she expected me to be able to see through walls. Maybe I could, but just hadn't found the switch yet. Who fucking knows at this point? "Should be able to follow the sign then."

"Thank you."

I walked out of the cafeteria with Miller behind me. I kept a tight hold of Dad's presence, for lack of a better word.

It would not be a good way to keep physical tabs on him. I realized that by the time I passed the vending machines and water fountain. The particulars were not the easiest thing to put into words. It was like trying to explain sight to someone blind from birth. How do you describe the color blue? Was this how every parahuman with a sensing power felt? Like English just didn't have the words?

My power, whatever it was exactly, it was subtle. My Dad made me notice it, but that didn't mean he was the only one I could feel once I knew what I looking for. Ripples, except they were also threads, flare guns and unorganized manila folders stuffed to bursting with papers all at once which really didn't make any sense at all, but that's how it felt.

Ugh, this is what I mean about not having the words.

To make what was probably a very poor art analogy, the world was a cardboard cutout painted white. Positive space. The sense I had was like trying to parse the negative space into a coherent picture. I don't think there even was a coherent picture, but I was saying that after having only having maybe an hour of looking. As for why it took so long to realize I even had this power?

Replace the cardboard cutout with the sun. That was me. Drowning everything else out. Dad was like the shadow of a shadow that never moved from where I 'spotted' him. Either my power didn't really work off physical distance, or distance didn't mean much.

Far as I knew, Rebecca Costa-Brown's office in the main PRT HQ was clear across the country in California. For just a little while, back in the room? I could feel her just like I could feel Dad, like she was sitting right across from me. Wariness, a lot of it but tempered with something that rang like – like brittle iron? Tired and, ruthless? Not quite. Everything about her just screamed 'intent to deceive' at me. Not lying, exactly, just not true.

Blegh. Words. I don't have them.

The Restroom sign with the little green arrow beneath the letters pointing the way was by the elevators. There was no getting out that way. On this floor at least, you needed a key card and the windows were a ticket to a nice twenty-foot drop. Even if I wanted to make a break for it, I'd be buried in agents before I reached the sidewalk.

I slipped into the bathroom without a backward glance at my shadow, Miller. Once again, I found myself standing before the mirror.

Bathrooms were kind of a safe place for me. Out of necessity, I found myself in a stall lunch period after lunch period just so I could eat in relative peace. At least with the lock on the door, and most kids out with their own friends I could avoid the bottom feeders, hanger-ons and everyone else in the mood for kicking someone when they were down to make themselves feel better. It didn't work all the time, but it was better than being out in the open at the cafeteria where I would find all kinds of junk in my hair or down my shirt. Bathrooms were safer than the classrooms where my homework would be stolen, or destroyed. Juice in my seat. Safer than the hallways.

Safer than my locker, I guess.

Absently I closed the drain and turned on the cold water. I watched the ripples flow outwards, and then bounce back from the sides muddling what had initially been a clear pattern. I glanced up at my reflection.

"So I fucked up." I hated being lied to, and something so important like the purpose of the PRT and by extension, the Protectorate superheroes? From the mouth of Rebecca Costa-Brown herself? How could I let that go? I couldn't, but that didn't mean I went about it the right way either. How could I salvage this? They hadn't locked me up again, but how much should I read into that?

I stared into the water.

No matter what happened, I had to make sure Dad was safe. Brockton Bay was full of villains and criminals. Anyone interested in Taylor Hebert, the parahuman, my Dad would be a prime target for them. If I couldn't protect him myself, the PRT was my best bet for options. Getting a secret identity somehow, relocating or just watching the house when I wasn't there.

Next priority? I wanted to be a hero. I had powers. They needed to be used making people safer. I owed that. I would not accept anything else.

If I had those, was anything else really important? My bullies were facing criminal charges. If I was in the Wards, I could go to Arcadia, a completely different school. Even if that didn't work out, Winslow couldn't be as bad as before. I could crush a laptop into the size and shape of a baseball with my mind. If the Chief Director had secrets, let her keep them. For now.

I'll work around her if I had to, when I had more control over my powers and more leverage than a few vague images.

Feeling a lot better about myself, I dragged a finger through the water and watched as my disruption create bigger ripples that almost drowned the others out. Then the inertia faded and it was like it had never happened. I unplugged the drain before the sink overflowed. The water drained quickly. I paused on turning the faucet off. Biting my lip, I took a step backwards until my back collided with a stall.

Ripples.

Descriptions, they were going to be a real pain in the ass, I could tell. I don't know how to describe my moment of insight, just that the comparison to water felt right. I lived in Brockton Bay on the Atlantic. The Boardwalk on the water was a raised platform for the seagulls as much as it was for the tourists. The concept of high tide, low tide was not unfamiliar.

Push and pull.

I had pulled on the Chief Director. As gently as I could, barely feeling like I was doing anything at all, I pushed at the space only I could feel.

The bathroom wall exploded.

I was left standing there with a broken pipe spewing cold water in my face, my finger raised like the pulled pin on a grenade as a man on the other side of the wall screamed from the urinal, yellow stream spiking, shattered glass and pieces of ceramic skittering across the floor. Miller burst through the door, pistol out.

I lowered my hand.

"I can explain everything."

* * *

Director Emily Piggot was nearly a half foot shorter than me, and she still managed to make me feel like I was three feet tall. Dad was sitting on a couch, hiding behind a Sports Illustrated magazine but I knew he was snickering at my expense, the traitor and so was Annabelle but she hid it marginally better. She got me new clothes, including underwear, and I changed out of my wet ones at another bathroom on the other side of the building. Marginally. She handed me the shoes, Velocity sneakers, and told me not to break anything.

The man I scared the piss out of was in a Dauntless hoodie made to resemble hoplite armor and gratefully sipping at hot chocolate.

Piggot raised an imperious eyebrow. "I see you've met Deputy Director Renick."

Fuck.

Dad ripped a page turning it.

"Hello, sir." I said. He smiled awkwardly. Oh, right, getting caught in the men's bathroom by a teenage girl would be awkward, wouldn't it? And here I was feeling worse about almost hitting him with the sink while his pants were dow – don't think about it, _don't think about it!_

I met Piggot's eyebrow with my own.

She pinched the bridge of her nose again. "I don't get paid enough for this."

I had the distinct feeling that it was a good thing I wasn't in the Wards yet.

"No unauthorized power testing." She jabbed a meaty finger in my face.

"Yes, ma'am."

She didn't say anything else on that topic. As far as I was concerned, she didn't need to. I, Taylor Hebert, can be a bit of a dumbass. This is known.

"After your other stunt, the Chief Director was forced to observe opsec protocol however, for reasons," she sneered. I could feel Piggot. Resentful, paranoid. "She wishes to speak with you. You'll be using the conference room this time."

I'll be using the conference room? Alone? "I'm…very sorry for – "

Piggot held up her hand, palm out. "Just. Go."

I went.

The conference room looked exactly as I would have expected. A gorgeous cherry wood donut table surrounded by plushy office chairs dominated the center of the room. Small terminals were imbedded in the table in front of each seat and a large see through computer screen was held in the center. Costa-Brown was on it with the camera zoomed out further than it had been during the other call. I could see her hands clasped on her desk in front of her this time, papers with handwriting and the edge of a window. She peered at me intently, calculating.

"Hello again, Taylor," she said without a trace of anger or fear. "Please, have a seat."

The door finished closing behind me with a tiny click and the majority of all the little sounds I'd gotten used to with my improved hearing muffled into a dull drone. Soundproofing, and good soundproofing at that which was an interesting choice for a conference room on the second floor of the Parahuman Response Team building. Everyone knew the PRT was part of the federal government's Alphabet Soup in the same vein as the NSA, FBI, CIA. Their PR machine on the other hand made them cops with magical nerf guns.

They had a protocol for agents compromised by parahuman powers. Considering the various forms of thinking or sensing powers, including seeing into the future, I shouldn't be surprised that the PRT had classified information. If 'Need to know' had an interior design, I was looking at it. And yet, I was the one standing here and not Director Emily Piggot.

I sat down in a chair I could see the door from and mimicked the Chief Director's posture. I clutched my hands maybe a little too hard. The line between 'feeling strongly' and 'overwhelmed' was far too thin for my taste and I was anxious. About what The Chief Director had decided about me, about what she wanted to talk to me for, about everything.

"What do you know about Thinker powers?" Costa-Brown started with. Aside from the obvious 'powers that deal with thinking,' I couldn't say I knew much at all. I browsed the Parahumans Online forums once in a while, but no real research.

What was the point? Getting powers, becoming a hero; those were the kind of pipe dreams that it didn't matter how hard you tried, it was out of your reach. Like being an astronaut. You couldn't earn powers.

"Define 'thinker.'"

"That is the classification for any and all powers that allow the parahuman to obtain information or skills with greater accuracy, speed, range and or breadth than the unassisted human norm." Costa-Brown then smiled with a wry quirk of her lips. "Legal definition. We have to be thorough."

"Like the Library of Alexandria." Rebecca Costa-Brown's face froze. "Eidetic memory, can think faster and, something about expressions?" Hadn't I read that somewhere? My head dipped contritely. "Sorry, I don't know really know my heroes, but Alexandria's been my favorite since I was little."

Legend was 'Pew Pew Lasers' in a costume and Eidolon's power was 'Yes.' Brockton Bay didn't have any Thinker heroes, so I named the only one I knew that fit.

Her eyes made a slight movement to the side of the screen and then back. "Exactly. The PRT rates parahuman powers on a threat scale of one to twelve, although very few parahumans reach ten and above." I frowned at the words 'threat scale' and she picked up on it. "The criteria rubric was first created as policy for the PRT in parahuman confrontations, nothing more. I wish every parahuman was at least law abiding." Truth. "But that is not always the case."

"One is?"

"Slightly more capable than the average human."

"And twelve?"

Now it was Costa-Brown's turn to frown. "Beyond the PRT's paygrade."

Wait a minute.

"Even Thinkers?" I stressed. I really couldn't see how having a really good memory or being able to tell what people were feeling as being that dangerous.

"Yes," she said, deadly serious.

Oh, ouch.

"An ability to obtain sensitive information from someone roughly twenty-eight hundred miles away through a phone call is a concern, to put it lightly."

I winced. Hearing it put like that gave me a new, anxious appreciation for the 'government branch' part of the PRT. "I'm sorry, it's just, the PRT is important and – "

"You didn't like the idea of it not being what it seemed." She cut off what was threatening to be a babble. "I understand, however purposely attempting to reveal said sensitive information will have severe consequences. Understood?"

A prickle went down my spine and I reflexively glanced towards the door.

I didn't even understand the sensitive information. Nothing about it seemed relevant to the PRT in anyway but at the same time I couldn't shake the feeling that it must be. I saw what I saw but I didn't have context for it yet. What is the purpose of the PRT? The temptation to just pull more information out curled in my head with an unfamiliar twisting heat. I kept my eyes locked on hers and sifted through the ripples pressing deep into my head.

She was _farther._

"Could have had Director Piggot tell me that," I observed to mask my surprise. I didn't think my power even recognized distance but I could definitely feel it now. It wasn't in a lateral direction but more, underneath? Like the ripples of her presence were emanating from another layer, one that was extremely thin. Where was she? Maybe here to California was a soft limit on my range? "Why do you want to talk to me?"

"Because unless it's absolutely necessary, security breaches are not solved by bringing others in."

She unclasped her hands, bringing one up to rest her chin on. Costa-Brown wore small square bifocal glasses and a crisp navy blue suit with golden buttons. It was the look of someone comfortable in a boardroom or on a hearing floor, but I could feel a small shiver of unease from her.

"If you would describe what you saw in detail?"

Recalling the, vision I guess would be the word for it, was easy. "A woman giving vials to people."

"Describe her," Costa-Brown cut in.

"Dark skin, long black hair and wears business casual." I searched through the memory. "Prefers to wear light colors, white, blue, yellow, sometimes with a white lab coat and clipboard."

"The vials?"

"The vials have labels. Not on them physically, but I just," I pulled my hands apart and laid them flat on the table just behind the keypad of the embedded terminal. Between my fingers ran the dark waxy lines of the wood grain.

"I just know." I'm not interrupted this time. "I see a person receive one and drink, sometimes after signing papers, other times after just talking, and then I see the next person. The vision has…threads," I involuntarily grimace at that description. Paths would have been better. "I think I can follow them."

"Don't."

There was a bit of an intent to conceal there. It was not actively malicious, I thought, but that could always change. There were things she didn't want me to know, but she was attempting to be honest. Within limits.

"Don't ask questions, get no lies?" I made sure to pitch my voice soft and non-threatening. Rebecca Costa-Brown was playing gatekeeper. Find out what I know, then silence me. I had a…feeling she had more options for silence than making me sign a Nondisclosure Agreement. There was a reason she wasn't using it. Something about my powers?

"Classified?" I said, more as a statement than as a question.

The Chief Director smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. "The important question here is what to do with you?" Her gaze shifted the tiniest bit to the side again, and I caught a strange reflection off one of her eyes, like the light hadn't hit it right. "As much as it is a concern, thinker powers are a strategic asset. If you are willing, I want to test your limitations."

I barely needed my powers to read into that. She wanted to know if there was a way around my powers. If I was in her shoes, I'd be wondering that too but, between blowing up the bathroom and now, I hadn't gotten any more eloquent in describing how my powers work so this was going to be interesting.

"I'm…just figuring this out as I go along. I have no idea what I can do, until I do it."

"From my understanding, most parahumans have at least, a vague awareness of their powers if not the details."

It took being slapped with Dad's emotional clue-by-four to even notice I had a passive power. "Guess I'm not most parahumans."

"Hm," was the only verbal response she gave to that. I could feel a glimmer of curiosity though. "Did terminating the call abort your vision?"

I shook my head. "The sound did. I got distracted and lost sight of the ripples you made."

"Ripples?"

I paused a moment to put the words together in a way that didn't make me sound like an idiot. "My power seems to based off an extra sense. You know the concept of positive versus negative space?" She nodded. "Imagine everything physical is positive space. Even the air. But then, between, is negative space. I can feel people interacting with that space, making ripples. When I touch those ripples, I get a sense of what you feel."

"Can you feel me now?"

"Yes. I didn't feel any kind of distance before but, you are a bit farther now, I think."

Costa-Brown's lips pursed with a little irritation. "And this is how you perceive someone lying?"

"I didn't say lying, did I?" I asked, lifting my eyes from the table to look at her straight on. "I said _not true_."

A few seconds passed with neither of us saying anything.

"I could feel you," I continued softly. "There were many minor falsehoods in your words and you were dripping with intent to deceive." That twisting heat in my head was back. I kept it contained this time. A repeat performance now was really not a good idea. "I do not care about the rest. Hyperbole, a little twisting of the facts," I shrugged and dropped my eyes. "Everyone does that."

The quiet that followed wasn't awkward, but tense. This was a tipping point. I could almost feel a strand stretch between us, close to snapping. She was either going to cut me off here, or reveal just a bit more of what was behind the curtain. I clenched my hands into small fists on the table and kept my eyes down, tracing the grains. I let the heat in my head curl out, just a little. Enough to bleed into the shifting currents around me. I wanted to _know._

"The Parahuman Response Team," she began slowly and I snapped my eyes up. "It's part of an eight step plan to integrate parahumans into society."

Truth, but the intent to conceal was still there. That made me relax, slightly. She probably came to the decision on her own, then, since she didn't make a complete one eighty and feel like blurting everything out. I hadn't really done anything, right?

"We haven't reached the end stages of the plan." I hazarded a guess.

"We've stalled at step five." She admitted easily. "What do you know of the Endbringers?"

"Behemoth. Leviathan. The Simurgh."

Three horrific creatures that attacked roughly every three months and nearly every time, they left behind a destroyed city. Behemoth was known for its abilities over energy, heat, electricity, radiation and the one with the most parahuman deaths to its name. Leviathan was a classic sea monster, attacking coastlines and islands with control over water. The Simurgh deserved 'The' in front of its name. It looked like an angel. It caused the least amount of property damage. It didn't even kill that often.

But if it descended on a city, that city was effectively gone. Simurgh victims were time bombs. A newspaper boy one day could get the urge to build a homemade bomb vest and head to the nearest subway station. Multiply that by every person in the city. Who's rigged to blow? No way of knowing.

Closest thing to an answer we had was to lock up the city, and throw away the key.

"I know what everyone knows. Anything in particular?"

"Five days ago, precognition around the world started experiencing, glitches, for lack of a better word." She continued over the sound of the bottom of my stomach dropping out. "We didn't realize they were glitches at first. Most thinker powers are target specific and relatively short range. Powers that don't have a distance limit are rare. Range and coherency are rarer. Target specific powers were mostly unaffected. Those who were included the majority of our WEDGDG division." She waved off the unspoken question. "I will cover that later."

She reached towards the touch screen on her desk and her face was replaced by a high altitude image of an angel with six wings, looking down at the world below.

"This image was taken approximately four hours after the Brockton Bay storm began."

It was an almost artistic picture. I could see a blue expanse partially covered in wispy white clouds in the background. The curvature of the Earth was rimmed with the silver of reflected sunlight and the white angel with six wings hung motionless, looking at something just beyond the picture frame.

"The Simurgh, like the rest of the Endbringers, are difficult to predict, but – "

My heart lurched in my chest. "_I can feel her_."

I could feel her. If my father was a shadow of a shadow, a sunspot on the surface of a star, then the Endbringer was deep, dark _hole_. She was the source of hundreds of small waves in the ocean that bent, curved and twisted around the currents and ripples of others. Threads of influenced touched thousands more creating a tangled, impossible weave that revealed more connections the more I looked. I was afraid to tug on anything around, half-convinced she'd be able to feel it, feel me.

Rebecca Costa-Brown's emotions spiked, hard, and full of everything. The picture on the screen instantly changed to one closer to Earth. A man of gold in a stained spandex suit and cape hovered above a forest being consumed by a wildfire, distracted, with his head turned.

Scion.

He was far, muted. I willed myself to look for him, the strongest man in the world and the first parahuman, in the shifting space. I had to reach a little, maybe he was on the other side of the world? But once I spotted him, I was able to feel what he was feeling. And what he was feeling nearly bowled me over.

_Crushed._

He was grieving. So intensely my eyes welled up with sympathetic tears as I felt an echo of his pain. He was purposeless, without direction and just moving to be moving. A pit of apathy lay just underneath it; as if the world itself was pointless and insignificant. I tugged, gently, just to see if there was a way to help him or at least see what he was grieving for.

I saw an expanse of stars, and two large creatures slowly traversing it. They started to bleed pieces of themselves, shedding. I got a feeling that chilled me down to the very bone.

_Dangerous._

"Yes, he is." Costa-Brown startled me out of the vision and I was suddenly aware that I had been staring at the eastern wall of the conference room, trembling. I've been talking out loud? The Chief Director's face was back on the screen. She held her glasses in one hand as she gazed intently at me.

Her eyes were different, I realized. Only the left one was real. "I am putting in a recommendation to test your ability to contribute to the PRT's Watchdog think tank. You're a minor, but I'm sure I can work something out with Emily." Wait, what? " You and your father will have to sign NDAs, but the local PRT can handle the necessary details. Do you mind if I ask you one last question?"

I blinked slowly, feeling wrung out and tired. "Depends."

"I borrowed a colleague's office. Know anything about it?"

I knew what she was asking.

So I pulled, gently, trying to focus on just the information I wanted. All I got was an image of a perfectly normal blond man in a perfectly normal button up shirt and thin-rimmed glasses pacing before a perfectly normal desk. I saw a large print of the Phi decimal in gold against black paper. Math person? On the other side of it was a morbid picture of a man crucified on a fourth dimensional cross. The only other thing of note was that the desk was in a different place in front of a floor to ceiling window looking out at a landscape I didn't recognize.

"I see a blond man pacing. The touch screen is facing the other way and there's no chairs. There's posters on the wall, one of the Golden Mean and the other one of a crucifixion. One wall has been replaced by a large window."

She nodded. "What shirt is he wearing?"

Odd question. "White button up, black stripes on the shoulders and a black and silver tie."

Her eyes shifted again and this time I was sure of it. Someone was in the room with her. Consultant? "That will do."

"I have a question of my own." Her eyebrow quirked questioningly. I smiled. "How'd you lose your eye?"

The Chief Director laughed as she stood up, slipping her amber rimmed glasses back on her face. I felt amusement and an older pain. "Later, maybe. I'll keep in touch."

_Truth._

The screen went blank.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Metamorphose**_

"What is this about?" Dad asked as he took the papers.

He was distracting himself. A churning pit of anger and something very close to hatred simmered underneath a steel core of resolve in my father. The resolve was driven by a small, but no less intense bubble of self-flagellation. He was blaming himself for failing me. He'd had three cups of coffee so far with the stubborn set of his jaw I was used to seeing when he was on the job that told me he was taking everything seriously.

"For the classified information unintentionally revealed during the meeting with the Chief Director," Director Piggot's eyes bored into me for a second then shifted back. "And for any subsequent sensitive information you may hear from your daughter in the future."

Dad's eyebrows jumped as he turned. "Taylor?"

My head was still spinning. It was almost five minutes to one in the morning and I had just discovered that Scion, the greatest parahuman on Earth, wasn't human at all. He was an alien from outer space and super fucking dangerous and the government knows. I had no idea what to tell my father, or even what I was allowed to say.

So instead I just smiled weakly. "I've got really strong Thinker powers."

"How strong?"

"Very," the Director said dryly.

From the raw indignation pouring off her, I knew Emily Piggot hadn't been told anything more than the absolute basics. I'm not sure how good an idea that was, because her paranoia had only increased. Piggot was an eclectic mix of negative emotions around a will like a battering ram, but she was honest. That honesty was currently grating right up against betrayal and bitter vindication.

"You're going to be working for the government?" Dad asked me, unsure. "You're fifteen."

"She will be adequately compensated, Mr. Hebert," Piggot said evenly. "The WEDGDG is a civilian division, very low risk environment, but vital in keeping our society stable."

"What about the Wards?"

Piggot's lips thinned. Oh, she really didn't want to deal with me as a Ward. "While that is an option, the Wards program is not," she paused to think over her wording. "Structured to make full use of Thinker abilities such as Taylor's."

My father looked down at the papers he held. "You mean the training, classes and patrols?"

"Make no mistake, we have a vested interest in helping your daughter control her abilities regardless of where she goes." I didn't quite manage to hide my flinch. "We're looking at a truncated version of the Wards program to accommodate."

"What about her," Dad turned to look at me and grimaced. "Identity?"

Piggot grimaced as well but coupled with her tired eyes and blotchy skin, it made her look sick. "I'll be blunt: your daughter's status as a parahuman is public knowledge by now." Dad's hand came up to rub at the wrinkles on his forehead. "However…"

"I'm an elf," I stated flatly.

Piggot smirked. "Precisely. If we announce a new parahuman in Brockton Bay now? We'll lose that advantage. But if we were to relocate you – "

"I can't – "

"Or say we moved Taylor," Piggot continued as if Dad hadn't interrupted. "We could coordinate debuts with another PRT branch to sell the illusion. 'Taylor' shows up in, say, New York and a few months later a brand new, unknown is transferred here. It would take a fair bit of work." She looked between the two of us. "But we could do it."

I could see it. The Wards were all costumed heroes anyway so their identities were sealed. All the PRT had to do was find a body double for me, tall skinny girl with curly brown hair optional, put her in a costume with a full face mask and show her off to the public. Then they would claim that 'Taylor's only power was manifesting the strange storm and for the interests of public safety, she would not be using it. New York City was definitely big enough to hide a random girl in. Everyone would assume she went to another school, or was in another part of town. And then when the media interest in 'Maelstrom' went dormant, Brockton Bay's East-North-East Protectorate branch could toot the horn about their transfer who could do everything but storms.

It was logically sound. It would take the pressure off Dad.

"What about the court cases?" he asked.

"She's a minor. Her physical presence is not strictly required."

So why didn't I like it? Maybe it was because I felt like I had forty-six people to make up for, more than that if the disappeared plane was never found. I hurt Brockton Bay, so I wanted to help fix it. And I didn't want to wait months of the public blaming someone else for my fuck up to do it.

Dad chewed on his lip, a habit I got from him, before he shook his head and looked at me. "Wards or," he hefted the papers a bit. "This. What do you want?"

"The Chief Director is recommending me personally."

His lips quirked to the side. "Not what I asked."

"I think I can make a real difference if I'm not a Ward." Endbringers. Scion. "My powers are…really good. I can make an impact on the world. Let me do this. Please?"

I think this is the first thing I've really asked him for since high school started. Instead of new clothes, an allowance or a phone, I'm asking for permission to be a government analyst. Why am I not more surprised? It was like the sudden weird turn my life had taken couldn't just stop at elf.

Dad seemed to think along the same lines, visibly struggling with himself as he looked down at the small stack of papers. "I want to know," he said quietly, but it hit me in the chest like he had shouted. That's what he was blaming himself for? Not knowing about the bullying? He cleared his throat and looked up at the Director. "I want to be informed of everything."

"You understand that by necessity Taylor may be assigned a different clearance level – "

"Then everything feasibly possible."

The harsh lines of Emily Piggot's face softened a little as she nodded. "Why don't you take those papers home to read over?"

Dad gave her a single nod of appreciation as he tucked the papers under his arm and stood up. "Taylor – "

"Will have to stay for the entire seventy-two-hour period."

Dad sighed. "Alright."

He had already taken for granted that we were going to try to hide who I was. I bit my tongue, hard. I knew he was trying to look out for me and it was a good idea. My problems with it were just that: my problems. Once I got my head on straight, my objections might just bow down to almighty reason. Until then, grin and bear it.

"If you both will excuse me," Piggot straightened her jacket and ran a tidying pass over her desk. "There is a bed with my name on it."

I went with Dad down to the main level escorted by two armed PRT troopers. In the lobby Dad turned to look at the closed gift shop with the various shelves and racks of hero merchandise. From here, I could see where the Aegis hoodies were and I had to frown. There were red ones? Why hadn't I gotten a red one?

Dad sighed explosively, all let out in a rush. "I hate all of this."

"Changing what has been is difficult," I replied reflexively. "Change instead what will be."

He turned back to me, surprised. "Sounded pretty wise there, kiddo. That was, who was it – no, don't tell me - your Galadriel impression, right?"

I threw back my head and groaned out loud. "Dad."

In response he swept me up into a warm hug, chuckling as he gave me a squeeze. "Still my little girl, aren't you?"

For fuck's sake, look at me. Ready to start crying at the drop of a hat. "Yup." He gave me another squeeze before letting me go. I quickly wiped my eyes and poked him in the chest. "Go home and sleep. Eat. Shower and change clothes. You_ stink_."

"Alright!" Dad sniffed himself and made an exaggerated face. "Alright. Tomorrow then?"

"Tomorrow."

He bundled up his papers and walked out the door to the white PRT van waiting for him. I reached out to the ripples he made as the sliding glass doors closed behind him. Goodnight, Dad.

He turned and yelled. It was slightly muffled by the glass, but I could hear him loud and clear. "Good night!"

I waved back.

* * *

"I'll take it from here."

I stopped dead at the voice, heart leaping into my throat as Annabelle cut off her story about her two asshole cats. The owner of the swift, purposeful steps that I had heard approaching us was in midnight blue power armor with silver highlights. Armsmaster. He was carrying a laptop in his offhand with the head of his custom built halberd visible over his right shoulder. I was mentally pleading, fucking begging my face not to turn red as I bit the inside of my cheek.

Annabelle paused after she opened her mouth, as if about to say something and then rethought it. "Yes, sir." She flashed me a small smile. "Have a good night, Taylor."

"You too." I said automatically. Armsmaster gestured with his head and started walking. I hesitated, but caught up in three steps, faltering on the fourth as he handed me the laptop. "Thank you."

He simply nodded. "In daylight hours, we will be attempting to get a sample of the material you were encased in."

I lifted my head and forced myself to look at him. Think more, feel less. "You couldn't get it before?"

"The material you created resisted all efforts." A muscle on his jaw jumped out along with a flicker of frustration. "Not even Dragon could – "

"Dragon?" I blurted. "You mean the Dragon?" The greatest tinker in the world had been the halls of Winslow High plinking away at my locker?

"Yes." We came to a crossroad in the corridors and he gestured with a hand the direction. "Diamond tipped tools dulled." He talked with his hands. Not overtly, but little twitches of his fingers and shoulders accompanied his words like a conductor rushing an orchestra through a complicated piece. "We then attempted to see into the," his mouth worked. "Cocoon. Ultrasound, thermal imaging, magnetic resonance, we even tried X-ray in attempts. No response from the ECG, but positive results from the EEG and MEG."

I held up a hand and he glanced at me.

"Probes to monitor fine electrical activity and occurring magnetic fields. Variations are used in hospital for brain imaging." I lowered my hand. "There were electrical impulses. Dragon put forward the idea that it was a brain, that it was thinking. That it might have been _you_."

An involuntary shudder went down my back. The very idea that I might have been stuck there in Winslow, in my locker as some thing unable to move, or talk, or eat. Just exist in my own little slice of personal Hell. Would classes have been canceled indefinitely? No, I didn't think so. It would have just been that police line and two troopers to scare away the curious. And then after a few weeks, they'd just close off the hallway or haul in a forklift to cut 'me' out of the wall and life would go on.

I could tell when a thought occurred to Armsmaster because his presence spiked with worry. "Our attempts to cut through…didn't hurt you, did it?"

"No," I reassured him quickly. "At least, I don't think so. I don't remember any of it."

Worry appeased, he kept talking. "Now that you are out, perhaps it will be less resistant. There are several parahumans with similar Shaker abilities. At times, distance or disuse weakens the material."

"And if it doesn't?" I adjusted my grip on my laptop. 'Shaker' must be the term for parahumans that can grow stuff out of the surroundings. "Will I have to go out there and try to…get rid of it?"

That would be a nice wrinkle in the 'Hide Taylor' plan.

Armsmaster's mouth twisted. "We will think of something."

At the end of the long hallway was a series of rooms with simple steel doors and little hooks beside each door with a keychain holding one key. He took one off, unlocked the corresponding door and then handed the key to me.

"For the time being, this will be your quarters. We are extending some measure of trust to you. Do not abuse it."

I grasped the key. "I won't. Thank you."

"Use of Master abilities without due cause will count as assault with a parahuman ability, which carries the same weight as an aggravated assault charge."

Didn't I just say I won't be abusing trust? I peered at him. His emotional mix hadn't changed. It was driven, very driven. In danger of washing everything else out. I took a breath and decided to just let it go.

"Okay."

He risked a smile, relaxing. "You did the right thing turning yourself in. There are many who would have reacted violently, or flee the scene."

I smiled tremulously.

"I won't keep you any longer. Get some rest."

I nearly swallowed my tongue tripping over saying goodnight to Armsmaster. Shit, what do I say, whatdoIsay? "Thanks." He says 'get rest' and you say 'Thanks?'

"You're welcome."

Right, guess that awkwardness didn't matter.

I entered my room and firmly shut the door. It held the same amenities as my former cell room but in a different layout. The room was stretched out rectangular instead of a rough T shape of the main room and bathroom to the side. This one even had a closet although it was empty. I set the laptop on the table and threw myself onto the bed. I laid there for a few seconds before I started grinning so wide my face hurt.

I'm going to be a hero.

I fell asleep like that, feet sticking off the bed in Velocity sneakers and on top of the covers with head bent in a way that would have given me a crick in the neck a week ago. It didn't take long for me to start dreaming. It was a soothing, peaceful dream with an edge. I dreamt of warm air, music and sitting on a shore of a crystal lake, weaving strands of bone in a tightly bound helix pattern. Meticulous motions almost managing to make me fall asleep within the dream.

Almost.

The ocean was hungry.

It nipped at the very edges like it was trying to take some of me, and it scraped against my mind like it was trying to give me some of it. I did not dare ignore it, not completely, but I was able to set it aside as I wove. A joyful melody played off the waves and currents of the ocean, little, gentle taps, pulls and pushes echoed and I played with them. I was careful not to drown a single note out.

A small enclave of men and women were gathered on the shores of a large, deep blue lake. Without the armor, I could see that they all were tall and thin with long ears and sharp features. Every one of us was working on something, from small tile like pieces inscribed with shapes to large futuristic looking vehicles showing battle damage. I wove. I held a stub with one hand of a tightly coiled helix cylinder that gently grew. It barely weighed anything now, but I knew I had a long way to go to reach its full length. It would be heavier still with strength sung into it.

Staff? Spear? Sword? Did it matter?

"Of course it matters, Vernasse."

I bit off a curse as the bone wove wrong and a splitting headache rammed my temples. I turned my note edged and sheared the mistake off. "Must you?"

My brother in brightly colored clothes that vaguely reminded me of a jester with almost but not quite clashing patterns, just laughed. I set my project down and bent over, scooping up a handful of water to fling into his face. He sputtered, coughing and it was my turn to laugh.

Alive. He was still alive.

Something about that felt wrong. I … _I don't have a brother._

The ocean ejected me with a violent shudder and I woke up sick to my stomach. The feeling of spinning out into a hungry oblivion fresh in my mind as I stumbled to the bathroom and threw up until there was nothing left. I laid my head on my arm as I sunk to the floor. My chest ached.

And there was a song in my head.

* * *

According to the laptop's clock, it was four minutes past five in the morning. I didn't know exactly how long I'd slept for, but it felt like I'd had the whole eight hours. I was still laying on my bed with the laptop on my pillow browsing the internet. The lights were still off and the computer screen bathed the whole room in pale blue light. I could see my shadow, pointy ears and all, on the opposite wall. Not needing a lot of sleep was another one for the list and that list was starting to look like my powers were just shy of completely fucking ridiculous.

The general PRT website was a goldmine of information. Power classifications, the rating system, links to the individual websites of all PRT branches and corresponding Protectorate teams in the US and Canada. There was even some information about affiliated groups like the international team The Guild who boasted Dragon among its members, or hero teams like Haven and Brockton Bay's New Wave.

I switched over and closed out of my notepad page without saving. I could remember everything perfectly anyway.

Telling my Dad that my Thinker powers were 'really strong' almost seemed like an understatement. Precogs automatically started from a higher base rating, which made sense to me. Taking down someone who could see it coming sounded like a pain in the ass to deal with just from that alone. I didn't know if I had precognition, but I couldn't say with any certainty that I didn't. And that, I think, is what scared me the most.

Once I started thinking in terms of threat I could see exactly where the Chief Director had been coming from. Just from what I've read, the sheer range I seemed to have on my emotion sensing would have gotten me a decently high rating. My visions were probably a form of targeted clairvoyance? That alone was a middleish rating. My heightened senses and reflexes were lower on the totem pole but nothing to sneeze at. Super memory fell under 'heightened cognitive.'

I had all of it at once. That was just my Thinker powers. The stuff I had made in my locker was another. The storm I made yet another one.

Dragon was a Tinker Eight. They evacuated people for Eights.

That really made me appreciate the kind of capes that lived in my hometown of Brockton Bay.

We had a lot of capes. Definitely on the high side of the national average which was amazing for a city as small as ours. We weren't New York City or Chicago, but whatever it was that determined how many capes per capita clearly didn't care. Parahumans Online, PHO for short, had entire sections dedicated to the so-called 'Cape Capitals' that were organized by country. Good old Brockton Bay by cape just missed taking over Buenos Aires spot in the rankings.

It even listed historical ratings. We used to be higher.

There were the main groups, Protectorate, Wards, New Wave, E88, ABB and the Merchants, but there was a sub-section for Independents too. Lately, some guy named Browbeat had been hitting the Merchants pretty hard the past few weeks. Faultline had a crew of mercenaries, but were often out of town. Shadow Stalker's thread had been closed by a mod with a redirection link to the Wards. Leet and Uber were video game geek villains with a bi weekly web show. Parian was a clothes designer. Circus was a cat burglar. The Undersiders were a small smash and grab villain group, mostly unknown but Hellhound had a bit of a scary rap sheet. And that was it.

There were eleven pages of closed threads about independent heroes or villains I'd never even heard of, some of them were years old and no explanation of what happened to them.

A lump formed in my throat. I think I had a good idea.

We had a lot of capes, and even worse, we didn't have a lot of weak capes. That was a problem when the heroes were outnumbered by the villains two to one. The neonazi Empire 88 had a bit of everything, Shakers, Brutes, even a Trump. Purity was a Blaster _Eight._

That was one step below _Legend._

ABB only had two known capes, but it was large and the guy in charge could turn into a dragon. 'Nuff said. The only 'average' group was the Merchants, and they were drug dealing scumbags.

Looking at Brockton Bay the way the PRT saw it, I wanted them out of my city. I wanted all of them gone.

I checked the time. Twelve after six. Still a bit too early to wander around, so I went back to browsing. We had a home computer but it was an old thing that liked to freeze up on anything remotely complicated, like opening two programs at once. Our internet had dubious reliability and even worse speed. I only got to really browse like this was at the Library or the last fifteen minutes of computer class at school.

A quick search of the PRT website led me to a small article page about the World Economic, Natural Disasters and Governmental Defense Group, WEDGDG for short, or more commonly called, the Watchdog. I'd never even heard of it before, but the article was making it sound like they kept the world turning.

It also had Top Secret stamped all over it without coming right out and saying it. The article was a page long and still managed to have next to no details about who, what or where. It had a Careers tab, which was a requirement listing and drop box for resumes. That actually told me more about the division than the article did. Civilian experts needed education, ten plus years of work experience minimum and a background check. Published articles, books, portfolios, references…and there was a second drop box for parahuman resumes which still asked for 'work' experience and references. Education requirements were lower, which seemed a bit unfair.

You could be superhumanly intelligent, but I knew enough about people to know that didn't necessarily mean you were smart.

'Must consent to thorough examination.'

That must be what the Chief Director fast tracked me to. I was way under-qualified. I didn't even have my GED. Why would anyone take me seriously? I just lucked into powers with nothing to show for it. I haven't really done anything.

I switched back over to PHO and looked over the villain list again. Three groups, vying for power and territory in the Bay. I had strong Thinker powers, right? A bit more practice, a bit more knowledge in how my powers work?

I'm sure I can come up with something.

* * *

Welcome to the Parahumans Online message boards.

You are currently logged in, _Galadriel_(Unverified Cape)

You are viewing:

• Threads you have replied to

• AND Threads that have new replies

• OR private message conversations with new replies

• Thread OP is displayed.

• Ten posts per page

• Last twenty-five messages in private message history.

• Threads and private messages are ordered chronologically.

Topic: New cape trying to figure things out here. Help?

In: Boards ► Places ► America ► New Capes

_Galadriel_ (Original Poster) (Unverified Cape)

Posted on January 9th, 2011:

I've got thinker powers I need help figuring out. There is this space I can feel, best I can do is compare it to a pool of water. I can feel people splashing in it. I can feel emotions, that was easy enough to figure out. But there is...a lot I don't get. There are currents and waves and ripples, they all do something but I don't know what. I get visions sometimes? I don't know how to activate them or if there is something to activate. I also feel emotions strongly and it kind of goes out of control. I broke my computer and blew down a wall on accident. Any ideas?

(Showing Page 1 of 3)

► Lamperouge (Verified Cape)

Posted on January 9th, 2011:

Wait, you have trouble figuring out your powers?

► Goirdox

Posted on January 9th, 2011:

Blowing down a wall seems obvious to me. Congratulations! You're a blaster!

► Mechanical_Messiah (Veteran Member)

Posted on January 9th, 2011:

Goirdox

Great, now I wonder what LOTR would have been like with ray guns.

_Galadriel_

Hmm, sounds like a Striker, Blaster, or Shaker ability tied with a Thinker ability of some sort. Be careful about experimenting around others though, because even if your power doesn't hurt others directly, that still doesn't mean shrapnel isn't a danger to watch out for. Also, look up the term "Manton Limitation". That info will be very useful for figuring out things with your own power. I wish you the best here with that.

► Lamperouge (Verified Cape)

Posted on January 9th, 2011:

Calibration issues maybe?

► BeerPong

Posted on January 9th, 2011:

This is prolyl fake. Geddout troll.

► Rayo89

Posted on January 9th, 2011:

rule 1, get advice from internet, do opposite

► _Galadriel_ (Unverified Cape)

Posted on January 9th, 2011:

Major calibration issues.

► ggHw

Posted on January 9th, 2011:

Go to your local PRT

► XxVoid_CowboyxX

Posted on January 9th, 2011:

So you can feel all sentient beings around you, know what they are feeling and when you feel strongly your power breaks stuff. This right?

► _Galadriel_

Posted on January 9th, 2011:

XxVoid_CowboyxX

Yes.

End of Page. 1, 2, 3

(Showing page 2 of 3)

► XxVoid_CowboyxX

Posted on January 9th, 2011:

Are you a jedi?

► Wild*Card

Posted on January 9th, 2011:

We've been had. Good job. Top quality.

► Fuzzy-Wuzzy (Verified Cape)

Posted on January 9th, 2011:

Thinker powers are right up there with Master on 'scary bullshit' scale. She could be telling the truth given the other known bullshit Thinkers have been known for.

► Icastfist

Posted on January 9th, 2011:

Thinkers don't usually break walls. Seconding the PRT motion

► Good_Girl

Posted on January 9th, 2011:

Be care about headaches now. Thinkers tend to get them real bad when they stress their powers. Real nasty stuff. Make sure to stay hydrated and get plenty of rest if that happens. And I'd love to meet a real life Jedi. Think if we ever meet I could get an autograph or memento from you?

► Powerball (Verified Cape)

Posted on January 9th, 2011:

Don't worry about it. You're power is prolly glitching the hell out like mine is.

► Chiefhorse

Posted on January 9th, 2011:

Build a lightsaber

► _Galadriel_

Posted on January 9th, 2011:

Chiefhorse

Not a tinker.

XxVoid_CowboyxX

That shouldn't make sense, but it does.

► BeerPong

Posted on January 9th, 2011:

Troooooolllll

► Xx_Void_CowboyxX

Posted on January 9th, 2011:

Have you tried meditating?

End of Page. 1, 2, 3

Each press of the F5 button revealed more responses of varying usefulness. It had been worth a shot. PHO had a lot of actual capes for members so chances were high someone had something to say that I could use. But it was six in the morning. If people online were anything like my Dad, their brains just weren't working one hundred percent until after coffee and breakfast.

I hadn't tried meditating and honestly? I didn't want to go back to sleep. Too unsettling to be a dream, but I couldn't call it a nightmare. I didn't want to experience it again. At least meditating, I had nothing to lose by trying but time. I checked on the Brockton Bay News thread. Even days after it happened, people were still talking about the storm. A hundred pages and counting. I didn't click on it.

I looked up some meditating basics. Breathe evenly, eyes closed, empty mind. Easier said than done, I suspected. A couple of sites recommended using a sound effect backdrop, something that would distract but also wouldn't put me to sleep. I don't know why I chose a looping audio of waves on the ocean. Thematically appropriate? I set it playing and sat down on the floor. I closed my eyes and tried to empty my brain. I didn't even know where to start. It was hard to think of nothing when my power was constantly on, distracting me with the movements of currents. I sighed and kept at it.

I'm not sure when the sound of the ocean started to fade from my ears and started playing inside my head.

* * *

"Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!"

I opened my eyes. I felt a slight feeling of disorientation, like I hadn't quite come back to my body yet, but it soon passed. I stood up and checked the time. Half past eight. I walked over and opened the door to see a guy that looked like a mall cop, button up shirt, black slacks, utility belt with a walkie talkie and all on the other side. He had a walrus moustache and thick eyebrows that jumped up on seeing me.

"Huh." He handed me a plastic bag with more clothes in it. "Elf. You know I – "

"Yup." I closed the door on him.

I stood there and just breathed for a bit. It took a minute or two for the soothing sound of the ocean from my laptop to get through, but eventually I was able to just feed my irritation into the space between the world and it ate the emotion greedily. I drifted a bit on the eddies and currents, flashes of images, feelings and what I was beginning to suspect was thought brushing against my consciousness. The first time that happened, I had slammed on the brakes, ripping myself out fast enough to give me a headache.

It wasn't so alarming now, but I didn't dare try to think back. The 'avoid thinking hard at people' rule was still in full force.

I took a quick shower and changed into my new clothes, which thankfully weren't stuff lifted from the gift shop. Well, not all of it. Instead, it looked like someone had raided the tourist trap at the Boardwalk and then turned around to raid my closet. That someone was probably my Dad. That didn't make the bra any less embarrassing.

I changed quickly and stuffed my old clothes into the bag after fishing the key to my room out of the pants. On the way out, I swung by the laptop to pause the ocean sound effects. I straightened my clothes, rolled down my turtle neck collar and ran a hand through my hair. Ready as I'll ever be.

I opened the door and mall cop just kind of stared. I closed the door behind me, locked it and turned back.

"Breakfast?" I prodded. I brushed up against the ripples he made, and then sunk under.

_...owe Bill money now damn it how was I supposed to know they weren't playing another joke on security I thought powers didn't change how people looked must be the one percent or a case fifty three…_

"Mask?" He held up a blank white plastic face covering. I had to raise an eyebrow. That wasn't going to hide my ears or how tall I was. It was not like anyone was going to look at me and see Taylor except for the people that already knew. What was the point?

"No thanks."

"Had to offer." He shrugged and waved for me to follow him. "Got any allergies?"

I walked behind him. "Not that I know of."

We walked through hallways that were more crowded than they had been last night. PRT troopers on the way to work, whatever it was they did when the city was just waking up. Sooner or later, they'd be called out to respond to cape fight. That was just Brockton Bay.

The cafeteria had transformed. Instead of two tables by the double doors, the whole floor was covered with the folding tables dragged out from somewhere and filled with people. Black helmets dotted the tables by their owners as they chowed down on waffles and sausages. I saw people of all ethnicities and both genders but the black body armor created an odd sort of uniformity. At the back of the room, the metal shutters had been pulled up to reveal glass and plastic containers of muffins, bagels, fruit and all kind of breakfast foods.

Mindful of how hungry I didn't feel, I picked out a bagel, some sausage and fruit bowl. Turning around, color that wasn't black by one of the side doors caught my eye. Was that Miss Militia? She saw me too, along with a hard spike of alarm.

Okay. What –

"Who the fuck?"

I turned and saw a black girl with her iconic dark mask on holding a tray. Pancakes, banana, granola bar and coffee freshly brewed from the machine at the other side of the cafeteria.

Shadow Stalker.

And she was pissed.

From looking at her emotional map, it would probably be accurate to say she was always pissed. There was an odd kind of self-directed rage that seemed to make up her entire being. She was railing hard against something and the struggle defined her caustically. Every other emotion was tainted by it. It reminded me of Armsmaster. I was probably not helping at all by smirking at the picture of hardass badass Shadow Stalker with a bulbous masked head wearing sweats holding a meal tray topped with pancakes.

Hail the conquering hero.

"Is that how you usually greet people?" I couldn't help but to ask. Miss Militia had abandoned her post by the side door. The All American hero was wearing her customary fitted army fatigues with star spangled belt-sash and face bandana. It was a very simple look completely at odds with her mental state.

Shadow Stalker snorted and rebalanced her coffee cup on the tray with her thumb as she walked by me. "Your face pisses me off."

That was so like the snide comments from Winslow that I just stopped. A part of me born of experience wanted to just swallow it and move on. The greater part remembered that this wasn't the Winslow cafeteria. A hero was right there in earshot, PRT troopers were at the tables and I was not defenseless.

"You have a problem with me?"

The burst of savage anticipation told me I'd walked right into whatever game Shadow Stalker was playing. She turned, "Maybe I've got a problem with all you fucking Case 53 freakshows – "

Miss Militia's hand came down on the Ward's shoulder. Her voice cracked like a whip. "Not another word, Stalker."

Someone told her I was a Case 53? Was that the official excuse? But, then why hide it from a Ward? Technically, I wasn't going to be one but I would still be expected to get to know and work with them, right? And if I was just a random cape, why lash out at me?

Because I'm not PRT or Protectorate. Shadow Stalker was angry. She needed to lash out at someone.

The panic was churning in Miss Militia in uneven pulses, as if she was trying to calm herself down and it wasn't working. Her efforts were tinged with desperation. She knew I could sense emotions, but no one could suppress their feelings completely. There should be nothing about this situation that was worth panicking over. There should be nothing.

I brushed the ripples of Shadow Stalker and Miss Militia, and dipped under.

A thunderclap shattered the windows and the sky outside darkened as I opened myself fully to the space between to pour all of my rage and hate boiling out of me in a futile attempt to resist the urge to _rend Sophia Hess to pieces._

Over the sound of drum beats and whispers in my ears I was vaguely aware that she was screaming. I did not care. I should. I knew I was in a room full of scared people raising guns in my direction, but they were all insignificant.

Pain.

I looked down and moved one hand off my meal tray to pluck the tranquilizer dart from my arm. I held it up before my eyes and watched it disintegrate. I shifted my gaze to the costumed heroine with the spangled bandanna. She was saying something. I did not understand it. I could not stay here. I dropped my tray. Then I turned and walked out.

Before me, people scrambled to clear the hallway as the emergency lights flashed. Lights that shattered, white sparks cascading to the floor as I passed. I did not know where I was going but that didn't matter. Away from here was all that did.

I entered the lobby and found fully armored PRT troopers blocking the main entrance. I knew what they were going to do moments before they did it, raising the large containment foam launchers on a barked command that was just grating noise to me. I took a step and the scattered watery spray rapidly expanded towards me. The water pipes in the ceiling burst at the same time, a curtain of water meeting the foam halfway a second before the pipes connecting the sprayers to the foam packs ripped themselves out. The troopers were quickly coated with their own foam, bleating panicked grunts as I walked through the water.

I dove into their minds. _I will not stay in this building._

Or I will do something I might regret.

The sliding glass door obligingly opened and I stepped out onto the sidewalk. Purple lightning arced down from the sky and struck a street light with a loud crack and squeal of splitting metal. The sparks rained on top of stopped cars. The people outside ducked and screamed.

I ignored them and kept walking.

* * *

The Boardwalk was closed. Police lines and cars created a barricade right along with the white PRT vans. Officers of both departments held the sizeable crowd back but he could see dozens of raised cellphones and cameras aimed at the bay. Even from here, he could see the brilliant corona of pale purple lightning out on the water.

So much for secrecy, Danny Hebert thought. He shut the car door with a firm shove. "I want to talk to her."

Annabelle sighed as she shut her own door and leaned against the car to look at him over the top. Taylor's assigned PRT officer looked sympathetic even as her eyes strayed out towards the water. "Not recommended."

Armsmaster's motorcycle was already on site with the man himself standing directly on the other side of the hastily set up police line, arms crossed. Danny could see the man sized white aura of Dauntless hovering above further out. The sky was the dusky overcast grey of a New England winter morning and a light dusting of snow was falling. Not a trace of the violent, roiling storm remained but everyone remained on edge.

Including himself. The first time the storm had happened, he'd been at work on the phone when the thunder rattled the lobby windows. His call had instantly drowned in harsh static. Seeing those boiling clouds just swallow the sky, he thought of Taylor still at school. That terror that gripped him then mirrored what he'd felt a little under two hours ago.

Something happened. Taylor.

He headed straight for the gap between the police interceptor vehicles. An officer was on the phone, scribbling in a note pad when he glanced over, then back down before his head shot up. "Hey, this is a restricted area."

Danny ignored him.

"It's fine," Annabelle was right behind him, vague movement in his peripheral was likely the flash of a badge. "Legal guardian."

The journal he'd given the police had documented months of bullying he'd been blind to. Then she was shoved in that locker. Deprived of a protector, she became her own. The trail of property damage the drive here had followed told him that much. He had a hard time believing his daughter even needed a guardian anymore.

Armsmaster heard him approach, turning sharply. "Mr. Hebert," he said after a pause. "There hasn't been any developments, but the situation remains volatile."

Volatile, his left nut. "She's just sitting there."

His voice was a little rough. He'd screamed himself hoarse earlier.

"We don't want to antagonize her."

You and half the city. "I'm going to talk to her."

What he could see of the man's face was just his bearded chin, mouth and bottom of a nose and he still managed to convey displeasure and wariness in equal measure. "That would not be advised."

"I didn't ask for advice." Danny said. "I am telling you, out of courtesy. That I am going to talk to her." The hero frowned harder, but didn't protest. The Brockton Bay union boy in him made him smile crookedly. "Thank you."

Danny didn't even have to reach the wooden boardwalk to see why Armsmaster let him go so easily. The corona of lightning was a good fifteen, twenty feet out in the bay, and spilling out in crackling plumes from some kind of whirlpool in the water.

Taylor was underwater. What was she trying to do, drown herself? "Taylor!"

There was no response. The water splashed up a little over the wooden boards where an uneven line of ice crusted the edges. Then it splashed up again, further, almost touching his boots as he stepped back. He looked up and out. The whirlpool was expanding. He watched it contort into an oblong shape before beginning to stretch towards the shore. No, not a whirlpool. An unseen force was pushing the water away like in one of those bible stories he knew as a kid.

He couldn't help smiling a little as it reached the Boardwalk, a path cut straight through the water exposing the rocky bottom of the bay. He put a hand on the railing and considered. He had winter boots on, waterproof. Warm jacket and a clear invitation.

No time like the present.

He climbed over the railing and slowly lowered himself down. He hung for a bit, gloved hands wrapped around on of the railings support poles to avoid the ice until his arms began to burn. He let go and fell heavily, nearly rolling his ankle on a slimy rock.

The lichen covered foundation of the Boardwalk was in front of him as water splashed, piled high, on either side. He had to take a minute to just stare at his surroundings before he set off, picking each step carefully. Behind him, the path splashed back in.

His daughter was almost too bright to look at, but that did nothing to hide the fact that she was currently floating.

She was sitting cross legged with pale purple lightning arcing across her form as she stared into the wall of water in front of her. A bright oval spot on her sternum burned bright enough to be seen through her turtleneck. The light penetrated just enough for him to see the small shadows of fish, what might have been a turtle and plastic bags float past. He stopped next to her, wracking his mind for something to say and praying he wasn't about to screw everything up.

"…Leviathan might want to have a chat with you," came out of his mouth and he winced.

"Not before the Simurgh does."

Her voice resonated _inside his head_ and he nearly swore. "Taylor – "

"A temporary no-fly zone was established over Brockton Bay and surrounding area after the first storm," she cut him off. "They were going to give it two weeks. That will be extended. The PRT will be facing pressure from the local and state government, if not the federal level to issue statements and contain the situation." She looked at him then for a moment. "Contain me."

Over his dead body. "You don't know that."

"No, I don't." she admitted easily. "But they do. The police chief on the Boardwalk hates parahumans. Our powers don't make sense to him and he thinks we're destructive." Her lips curved up at the corners in a small, cold smile. "He's not wrong."

Danny stuck his hands into his coat pockets and decided to ignore that. Even if he shared the chief's opinion. Brockton Bay was a city being slowly strangled to death by the gangs, it was hard not to. He didn't want to think that of Taylor. "You think you can read minds?"

"There's a man behind the police cordon, red jacket and jeans, blue and white Wildcats beanie. He likes elves." Taylor looked up at him with such a look of pure, distilled disdain that he felt like he had walked into the house tracking dog shit all over the carpet she had just cleaned. "His thoughts are disgusting."

His hands in his pockets balled into fists. That familiar white-hot heat began to boil in his stomach.

"I'll take your word for it," he said stiffly.

They spent a few minutes in a comfortable silence. Well, silence for him. If Taylor really was breaking conventions, then his thoughts were probably racing loudly for her right now. Mind reading. That was not supposed to be a thing, not really. He'd done more than a sane amount of research on capes ever since the PRT knocked on his door. He looked up at the seawater streaming around an invisible barrier around the two of them.

He didn't think anything could have prepared him for this.

"I was supposed to stay in the PRT building," Taylor commented and he snorted.

"You have my temper." He couldn't deny that she looked different now, but not so different that he couldn't see his daughter when he looked. Her eyes were shaped differently, but they were his shade and she still had her mother's nose. Was he…allowed to be happy that she had his hair now?

Taylor shifted. "What happens now?"

"Well," Danny rocked back and forth from toes to heel. "You have a medical appointment." She turned incredulous eyes on him and he smiled. "Standard practice for powers that change your biology." He paused. "Unless you don't want to."

"That's it? No cells, ultimatums, probation?"

Rather than speaking he just thought hard about his meeting with Piggot as troopers secured the Boardwalk. She definitely hadn't been pleased and expected cooperation going forward. She hadn't played hardball, but it was a near thing. A former Ward was unconscious, but expected to recover. The attack was considered unjustified but 'understandable.' He was pressing charges against Sophia Hess for a reason, after all. That there had been very few injuries and the storm hadn't even lasted an hour made it easier to swallow.

A cynical part of him whispered that the leniency was because Taylor had gotten the Chief Director's attention, and the PRT no longer had to worry about the expenses of hiding her identity.

Bureaucracy.

Taylor stood. It was surreal to watch her just unfold and extend her legs downward to the ground. Had she grown an inch or two? "I won't freak out like that again."

Her jaw clenched as she shoved her hands into her pockets and her shoulders hunched as she curled into herself. Danny felt a lump forming in his throat. How many times had he seen her stand like that, and hadn't connected the dots? Refused to?

He wanted to hug her, but hesitated at the lightning that still crackled around her. Even her eyes sparked.

"Stick close?" She smiled weakly and the shining oval in her sternum pulsed. "I'm actually not sure how I'm doing this."

Quite suddenly, Danny was not okay with the walls of water around them.

At all.

They got back to the Boardwalk by the old Ferry dock that was just low enough for them to grab and hoist themselves up by. Taylor let the aura fade and he immediately slung an arm over her shoulders and hugged her to him.

At the police cordon, Danny gently pushed Taylor ahead and nodded to Armsmaster. "Situation resolved."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a white and blue Wildcats beanie. He stopped. Red jacket, blue jeans. Following Taylor with his phone. Danny waved a 'wait a second' to Annabelle and then balled the hand into a fist. A hop skip.

The dick was staring so intensely at his phone that he never saw the right hook coming.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Metamorphose**_

I think my medical appointment was for patching me up after Director Piggot _killed_ me.

Annabelle's car splashed through a deep puddle under the overpass. An orange and white traffic cone sat innocently by the busted fire hydrant. She drove slowly. Pockmarked craters tore up the pavement and busted street and traffic lights lined both sides of the road all the way down to the Boardwalk. Not even buildings were spared, glass shards and concrete rubble littered the sidewalk from broken windows and chipped walls. Red and white wooden barricades closed the entire main road to through traffic.

I leaned out the window. "Scale of one to ten, how bad is it?"

Armsmaster's motorcycle purred as he maneuvered around a pothole. He appeared to give the question serious thought as he took in the damage. "Five."

I blinked. "Really?"

"Few casualty reports, superficial damage to structures." He looked up at a building we were passing. It had a cream-colored brick finish with about two dozen of those bricks blasted off the corner. "Cleaning up after the Merchants is worse, to say nothing of Lung."

"Was that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No," he replied. "Our abilities, used irresponsibly can and will make us a danger to those around us. You were angry and that is understandable. You also increased the PRT's workload unnecessarily, increased the work load of nearby hospitals and will cost the city hundreds of thousands of dollars. This has not helped the public's perception of you."

My jaw clenched as I looked down and to the side.

Truth.

"But," he continued. "You could have done worse."

"Yeah, I could have." I know I could have. A lot worse. Dad turned to look at me from the front seat, slight frown on his face wrinkling his forehead and I made sure to give him a little smile before turning back to Armsmaster. "Thank you."

He nodded, eyes on the road. I could feel that he was pleased and relieved, mentally patting himself on the back. "You're welcome."

On the outside, the PRT building looked pristine. If you ignored the clean-up crews visible as shadows in the glass front, then it was almost like nothing had happened. Armsmaster kicked up the throttle on his bike, pulling away with a throaty engine growl that evoked a strange feeling of nostalgia as the car slowed down. My fingers twitched as I watched the bike head for the garage.

Convincing my Dad to let me have a bike was going to be just this side of impossible right now. I tore my eyes away and unbuckled.

Director Piggot was waiting for me in the lobby. The woman stood before the front desk like an island in a storm. The floor was still wet with yellow warning signs depicting a falling stick figure set up before the elevators and continuing down the hall. All of the plaster board had been removed from the ceiling, exposing lights and wires with men on ladders underneath.

She didn't even have her arms crossed or behind her back. She just checked her watch. "If we are quite done with the property damage?"

I grimaced and ducked my head. "Yes, I'm done."

"Good." She was unsettled, but she was not going to show it.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Piggot gave me a flat look. "You've had a long five days. We've all had a long five days. It was not information you needed to know right after your ordeal." Or ever. "We have a responsibility to protect both of your identities and contact, if any, was to be limited."

"She's not, staying a Ward is she?" Staying a hero? After everything she's done?

"Her membership in the Ward's program was contingent on her following the terms of her probation. Exactly." A thrum of satisfaction went through the Director. "Her membership is no longer valid." She shrugged. "What gave it away?"

"I can read minds."

"Bullshit."

I sighed. I heard something along those lines from my Dad's thoughts. Trying to peg a limit on parahuman powers we didn't even fully understand seemed idiotic to me. Honestly, insisting otherwise was more trouble than it was worth.

"Fine. My ability to sense emotions and intent is acute enough that I can follow the course of what you are likely thinking with some concentration."

Piggot nodded.

"Believable bullshit." I could hear her think, _fucking thinkers._ "Use that."

"Yes, ma'am."

She took a meaningful look around the lobby before sniffing disdainfully. "You _will_ be seeing a counselor for anger management."

"But – "

"Mandatory," she cut me off and I almost growled. Not a Ward. Piggot slowly smiled, no doubt knowing what was going through _my_ mind. "But under my jurisdiction. Consider it community service for your little outing."

She was baiting me on purpose. I took in a deep breath, then released it and my irritation. "If you insist."

"Oh, I do." She looked around me at my Dad. "We've contracted Panacea to assist with the examination. They should be ready for you." She gave me a last lingering look as she turned to leave. "Refrain from dropping more work on my desk, if you would."

I smiled tightly. "I wouldn't wish to cause you _undue_ stress."

Director Piggot's stink eye was still burning a hole in my shirt when Dad laid a hand on the top of my head. "Do you," he started slowly. "Want me with you?"

In the past, Mom was the one who came with me to the doctor's office. We used to make a day of it, a girl's day out thing and it was less embarrassing that way. Since she died, I had to become self-sufficient in almost everything. Packing my own lunches, getting my own textbooks and school supplies and even getting the flu vaccine this winter by myself. That he was asking now; it meant a lot. Mom had…left pretty big shoes to fill.

I had a sinking feeling about what the examination would reveal though. I didn't want him around for that.

"I'll be fine."

Dad smiled weakly. "Alright, I'll just, uh," he held up a slip of paper. His ticket fining him $25 for Disorderly Conduct. I smiled, nearly bursting into laughter remembering how he got that. "Go take care of this."

On impulse, I hugged him. "See you later?"

He hugged me back. I had only just got my powers, but I knew he was happier than he'd been in a long time.

That was almost worth the locker. I don't think anything can make up for being betrayed by my best friend or having her make school hell for months on end. Her, Sophia and Madison. Nothing was worth being absolutely alone, but if I had known that it would have resulted in powers and my Dad and I acting like a family again? I might have walked into that locker on my own.

Maybe.

"I'll bring lunch. How does chicken wraps sound?"

That was something I knew he could make really well. For once, I could actually feel more than a bit hungry. Oh right, I skipped breakfast. "Delicious."

Annabelle waited dutifully until Dad got into the elevator for the car garage, throwing me a lopsided smile. I felt a bit of shame. PRT handlers for problematic parahumans, that was a dangerous job, wasn't it? PRT troopers were still in containment for Master Stranger protocols and the woman was there without a hint of fear or wariness or anything. I had just shown off how dangerous I could be, and as far as I could tell, she didn't think any less of me.

As far as I could tell, was pretty far nowadays.

"Ready to go?"

I nodded. "Thank you, by the way. For everything."

"Aww," she cooed, reaching up and lightly tugging on my ear. That…felt _weird_. "Just doing my job."

"Still."

She just smiled. "Come on, docs wanna poke ya."

The 'docs' were Doctor Cèsar Bouras who was tall, dark and potbellied and Nurse Practitioner Cathy Goodness who looked like someone's grandmother with white-gold hair and bifocals. On our way down to the PRT's medical wing, I'd gotten an eyeful of all the shit I broke. I had to have tripped a breaker or two at some point. Luckily, that hadn't affected any of the expensive hospital equipment like the MRI machine.

I had a feeling Piggot would have been a lot less happy if I cost her several million dollars instead of thousands.

"Clench your fist for me?"

I did as asked with my shirt sleeve rolled up and my veins pulling evasive maneuvers. Nurse Goodness prodded and poked my elbow joint, my wrist and checked the back of my hand before shaking her head.

"Alright, you're a bit harder to get blood from than Aegis," she finally said. Doctor Bouras chuckled from his spot at the computer. "I can feel that nothing is in the right spot." She looked up at me over the top of her glasses. "I don't want to poke something that might hurt a lot. Have you ever gotten finger pricks?"

"No?"

"I'm going to try that. We don't need too much for testing." She got out a few small tubes and a blocky bubblegum pink thing that reminded me of a tape dispenser. "How this works is that you'll feel a pinch, and then we squeeze out blood from your fingertips."

She unstrapped the rubber tourniquet and I flexed my hand. "Fine."

Just as advertised there was a painful pinch after the loud click sound as she stuck my pinky finger. My blood was a bright red, so vivid I almost thought it was fake. Goodness made a small thinking sound but didn't comment as she squeezed my finger a few times into one of the small tubes. She got about three good squeezes before I just stopped bleeding.

She sighed. "You're going to make this difficult, aren't you?" My ring finger gave even less and by the time we got to my index finger, it was completely bloodless. "Are you adapting?"

Doctor Bouras turned around in his chair. "Do you feel anything? Numbness at the fingertips, a chill, anything like that?"

"No."

The nurse went back to my pinky.

"Scabbing abnormally." She got a petri dish and a small metal instrument and scraped the congealed blood off. It fell with a tiny plinking sound I could hear. She sealed it and checked the blood in the tube with a shake. "It's congealing; we have to get this to tech quickly."

The doctor hummed. "I'm going to recommend we start with Ms. Dallon's examination then to get a better idea of what we're dealing with."

Amy Dallon was Panacea of New Wave, one of the premier American healer capes, if not the premier cape. It was said that she could heal just about anything short of brain damage. Missing limbs, organ failure, cancer, you name it. 'Medical tourism' was one of the things keeping Brockton Bay afloat, and that could be solely attributed to her. That was a lot of work for a girl in high school.

I sat in the office, more than a little fidgety. Waiting to meet someone who'd personally saved hundreds of lives would do that to you.

When the door opened again, Doctor Bouras walked back in with a clipboard and behind him trailed a mousy girl with frizzy brown hair and freckles. She wasn't in her iconic white and red costume, instead opting for a red sweater with white snowflake patterns, black pants and boots. She held a mug of hot chocolate she was hurriedly trying to finish off. New Wave was a family group that didn't hide their identities, but it was still surprising how normal she looked.

Her emotional map was also a complete mess. Every bit of my excitement withered as I took in what looked a lot like a pervading sense of guilt layered on top of depression. The chocolate was doing her some good, I thought.

"Amy, this is Taylor," Doctor Bouras introduced me.

I tried to smile and wave as Amy looked up, her eyes immediately darting to my ears and she inhaled a mouthful of hot chocolate. She exploded into hacking coughs.

"Okay," she coughed, eyes watering as she set the mug down on the counter. "Okay, you got me."

Bouras chuckled, his amusement clear coupled with sympathy and pity as he patted her on the back. I think he knew about Amy. "I thought you would appreciate it."

I sighed. "Yes, alright, we get it. Elf."

I was never going to live this down.

Ever.

Amy barked out a laugh as she rinsed her hands in the sink.

"Oh wow, PHO is going to _love_ you," she said with a bit of mean-spirited glee that was soon buried under remorse and shame. I refrained from pointing out that Brockton Bay probably hated me by now. Then again, considering how many people were taking pictures earlier? She dried her hands and asked the doctor,"More than skin deep, huh?"

He handed her the clipboard. It was bizarre watching a senior medical professional defer to a teenage girl. "Full work up."

She skimmed through it, flipping pages with a well-practiced air.

"I'll start inside and work out, top to bottom." She rearranged a few of the pages. She looked up at me. "This is going to take a bit, with a lot of talking, just so you know."

"Do this often?" I asked.

"A few times, yeah," she said as she set the clipboard on the small table by the exam table I was sitting on. "Powers that majorly change the body aren't very common."

"Case 53s."

"Yeah." She held out her hand, and nodded down. "While I'm at it, want me to heal your fingers?"

"Oh." I had completely forgotten about them. They didn't hurt at all. "Sure, thank you."

I placed my hand in hers and watched her brown eyes immediately lose focus. She stood there, mouth slightly open and looking at absolutely nothing. I shifted in my seat and squeezed her hand a little. No reaction. "Um?"

Ladies and gentlemen, Amy Dallon has left the building.

A minute passed before the doctor clued in that something was wrong. "Amy?" He stood up and shook her. "Amy!"

I pulled my hand away and she gasped.

Amy looked at me, looked at my hand and then blurted out, _"You shit crystals!"_

* * *

My name is Taylor Hebert.

I'm fifteen years old and I live in Brockton Bay, one of the 'cape capitals' of the American eastern seaboard. Since coming into my powers six days ago, I've demonstrated the ability to create storms capable of engulfing small cities which hasn't gotten me a lot of good will. Later on, I discovered that I had telekinesis as well as an ability to sense emotions and even read minds. Recently, my amazing list of super powers has expanded to include fucking shitting crystals.

I am _so done_ with this elf thing.

Doctor Cèsar Bouras gave me a sympathetic look as he adjusted the cuff on my arm. "I take it you haven't used the bathroom yet."

"And I never will."

Amy snort-giggled from the exam table. She had her arm over her eyes as she laid on her back with her boots off and the other arm on her stomach. I was sitting on the small spinning stool that always seems to be in doctor's offices by the wall mounted diagnostics pack. The thing with the thermometer, otoscope and blood pressure meter. The machine made a beep as the cuff inflated.

"Probably for the best," Bouras said as he held his stethoscope to my arm and watched the numbers with a slight smile on his face. "I can't imagine that would be comfortable. I could prescribe laxatives or other means of dealing with…crystalline constipation."

"Just stop." I said.

"Wouldn't work anyway," Amy chimed in. "Biology's too different."

It took a herculean effort on my part to drag my brain away from what was going to happen after I finished digesting the siesta salad I had yesterday. I knew that some capes had crazy biology. There was a Ward in Boston that was completely made of metal named Weld. Aegis on the local Wards could re-purpose parts of his body like seeing through his skin if he needed to. Considering the very nature of super powers, I guess a non-standard biology in some fashion was a given.

The real question was, how different?

The cuff paused for a second or two before deflating with a series of beeps. I looked at the digital screen.

"One ninety-seven over one forty-two," the doctor read out loud with a questioning tone. That was only about two points lower than my first blood pressure reading. Still seemed high, but given how fast my heart beat now I shouldn't be surprised.

Amy waved the hand on her stomach. "That's fine. Start worrying when it's over two fifty systolic or one sixty diastolic. She has a really low tolerance." She shuffled around a little and crossed her legs with a sigh. "Don't think that will ever happen though, _lucky_ you."

"Higher base temperature, higher baseline blood pressure," Bouras mumbled as he tapped a few things out at the computer. "Any allergies?"

"A few potential chirality issues," Amy answered for me. Chirality? What did that even mean? The healer stretched out the fingers of her free hand in my direction. "I'll take another look," she offered, sounding both eager and irritated and mystified at the same time. "Once this goddamn headache goes away."

Bouras turned off the lights.

"Any better?" He asked, bleeding a bit of the deep concern he felt into his voice. Amy cautiously peeked around her arm, and flinched back.

"A little, thanks."

He absently patted her shoulder on the way back to the computer. "Reaction to anesthesia?"

"Nothing for local." Amy thumped the exam table. "She doesn't use neurotransmitters. Putting her out might work, muscle relaxing won't. Mitochondria is bizarre. I have no idea how the _fuck_ you even work. I mean, it almost makes sense. I saw it. It's logical," her voice went up in pitch. "I_ just don't get the logic_!"

"Can you start at, the beginning?" I asked before she could pop a blood vessel.

I only had a high school education to fall back on, and not even a complete one at that. The last thing we covered in biology was photosynthesis, which was not helpful here. The sheer frustration she was feeling seemed almost out of place. It wasn't the frustration of someone who wanted to know something and was denied, it was more like she had never come across someone she couldn't understand at a touch.

Amy opened her mouth then closed it for a few moments.

"You have twenty nucleotide bases." Bouras choked on air, which told me all I needed to know. "You've got some kind of, quadruple strand helix DNA – "

"That's impossible," Bouras exclaimed.

"I know," Amy snapped before sitting up and dangling her legs over the side of the table. She rubbed the heels of her palms into her eyes. "You have a double strand helix core, and there is this error checking third strand that, theoretically, will prevent your genes from mutating. Your immune system is insane. Getting you sick would be," she dropped one hand as the other transitioned to pinching the bridge of her nose as her eyes were still screwed shut. "Pretty difficult, especially with viruses which is great because changes to your DNA will probably kill you."

"You mentioned I have a quadruple strand helix?" This was not disturbing me as much as it probably should.

Amy's hand moved towards me by about a foot before she stopped herself.

"The fourth," she hesitated. "Is almost conjecture."

"Almost?"

"It's like I was given only three fourths of the puzzle pieces. I have enough to start putting things together, and I can see where the last fourth would fit and it would make everything make sense but I – " Harsh creases were showing up on her forehead. "I couldn't understand it, at all. And when I tried," she pointed at herself. "Headache."

She can see where the last fourth would fit? I rolled that around in my head. "Is it like trying to make sense out of negative space?"

"One way to put it. It's like you're some kind of almost viable new species. Whatever your power did to you, it was thorough." Amy cracked an eye open. "Speaking of, you have brain damage."

Bouras spun in his chair as I gaped, reeling in surprise. My hand came up to the side of my head involuntarily.

"The Corona Pollentia, that's the part of the brain that lets us control our powers," Amy started. She spoke slowly, as if she was thinking through every word. "I've healed enough parahumans; I know what it looks like. You – Yours almost looked like you had an autoimmune reaction. At some point, your body started rejecting that part of your brain. There are scars."

"We can check that with the MRI," Bouras said, making a note on the clipboard by his keyboard. "It could explain why your trigger event – " I briefly dipped into his surface thoughts for an explanation on what 'trigger event' was. _Oh._ " – lasted such an unusual amount of time, and the involuntary power usage during it."

"Is that why I have control problems?" I asked, looking back and forth between the two. And emotional problems, I add silently. Brain damage was never a good thing and it was the one thing Amy couldn't heal.

Amy…she just looked at me with narrow eyes. Her gaze flickered over to Doctor Bouras. "Maybe."

_False._

_…don't even know how she even has powers that shouldn't be possible parahumans have corona pollentia that's how it works all she has left is an atrophied gemma maybe it was still active and i didn't see somehow or she really is a case fifty three that has her memories…_

I pulled out of her thoughts and smiled weakly.

"Also," she moved on. "You've got something in your chest, inorganic but I could see how your sternum," she paused. "Sternum analog has a socket in it."

"Is it, important?"

Amy shook her head, half laughing, half sighing.

"I – I don't know? There was no sign of stress fractures or healing, like your bone just grew around it, but it's not attached to anything. It's just there." She shrugged. "Honestly, you'd need me to take it out. Finding a painkiller that works on you would be annoying – " I could literally see the slight flush of blood to her face as she started to get worked up again. " – because your nerves are some _bullshit._"

Having reached the end of her patience, Amy lunged forward to snatch up my hand which I calmly moved out of the way, raising an eyebrow.

"Headache?" I sing-songed.

She hung her head for a second, wincing reflexively as she was reminded of it. "I'll be fine."

I frowned. We had just been talking about brain damage here. If using her powers to figure me out was giving her a headache that was a clear sign to stop. It was not worth putting Panacea in the hospital and I know she knew that. I don't think Amy had ever gotten headaches from using her power before, so why was she treating this so lightly?

Did she really think so little of her own health?

Yes, I realized. Yes, she did.

Amy's fingers made quick beckoning movements. "Come on already."

"Doctor Bouras," I called, keeping my hands well away. "Please tell Amy she's being silly."

"You are being silly, Amy," he replied dutifully over the sound of clacking keyboard keys. "Are you going back to class?"

Panacea gave up, leaning back.

"Day off," she shot me a small smirk. "Severe weather warning."

I winced.

"Then this can wait for a few hours and some headache medicine, can't it?" He sent whatever report he'd been writing off. It had been too full of medical jargon for me to make heads or tails of but I was assuming it was everything we had been talking about to Piggot's inbox. "Hm?" He prompted as he spun back around in his chair.

Amy stuck her tongue out at him.

"Thought so," he said, smiling fondly as he stood up. "We have enough to start. I'll let the radiology know to prep the MRI."

My eyes tracked the man as he left the room. "What is the MRI going to find?"

"A really dense brain," Amy murmured, solemn after his footsteps drifted out of earshot. "Lots of strange growths, no separation between the two halves and your strange neurons. If they take an X-ray, they will see a second rib cage in your abdomen and twinned almost hollow bones. Your blood is full of weird chemicals. You don't have a gall bladder, or a liver or a pancreas or – " she stopped. "Just…organs that…do things. It's very efficient. Everything fits neatly. Clean. The Corona Pollentia is – it was the only thing in your entire body that even remotely looked like it was supposed to."

I looked at the wall and controlled my breathing. I released the unease I was feeling into the space between. "What did my powers do to me?"

Amy's fingers twitched in my direction. An almost wistful look passed over her face. Her thoughts were racing, speculative, spinning off dozens of ideas for what she could do with what she saw. Even without the missing fourth piece in my DNA, like Doctor Bouras, she had enough to start. The guilt welled up then, doubt and self-loathing as she tried to banish the ideas and only ended up thinking about them more.

"They made you better."

* * *

"Doctor Bouras?" I ventured later.

They took the X-Ray first. I remembered taking one when I was younger, when the growing pains had started. I remembered the white stick figure with ten fingers and a rib cage against the dark background. It hadn't looked anything like that. My MRI had been worse, because I could feel it. It stopped just in time for me to throw up in the garbage can.

My brain was a whitish gray lump of matter with small spines coming off it.

"Yes, Taylor?" He was bent over the counter with the images stuck on the backlit board in front of him as he scribbled.

"You know Amy respects you, right? And what's going on with her?"

He stopped writing as his shoulders slumped.

"I have a good idea, yes." He straightened, absently sticking his pen behind his ear. "I've been told you are a Thinker."

Was being a Thinker something to warn people about? "Yes."

I could hear him thinking about what to tell me.

"Amy's situation is, well." He sighed. "She works at the hospital enough for a part-time job, and I know she's been healing overnight when she can't sleep."

That explained the guilt. As many people as she was helping during her 'official' times, how many more was she not helping in her time off? That sounded like a rationale of numbers just about anyone could come up with, but her depression told me that there was more to it than that.

"She's overworked."

He nodded jerkily. "She helps so much, and, who am I to tell her to stop helping people?"

"An adult that sees something is wrong," I said. All it took was one person to step up and actually do something. Even if nothing actually changed about the situation, it would mean the world to the person you tried to help. They wouldn't feel so alone. "Amy is – I think she's bullying herself. And that needs to stop."

'Bullying herself?' he mouthed, eyes unfocused as he thought about that, put the pieces together.

"Low self-esteem, lonely, stressed. She feels guilty for not healing, and there is something about _healing._ The people or something about it. She's depressed." No support structure, or a fragile one. That did not say good things about the New Wave family. Amy was widely praised as a healer. I really don't know how anyone could have anything bad to say about her. How could she have low-esteem with that?

Easily. By people who matter to her whittling it away. Sister? Parents? I frowned.

"How she heals," I began slowly. "Lay on hands only?"

Bouras blinked. "Yes."

The thoughts in Amy's head about modification, like she could do it. Change someone right down to the genetic level. With just a touch. A vague sense of disgust welled up in me.

"That is a _waste_ of her time," I said as I crossed over to the door. "Why don't you ask her, _exactly,_ how she heals people. And don't let her lie." I paused. Push? Tell him what to do? No, no, I don't think I really need to. "Rest is up to you."

As I closed the door behind me, I couldn't help thinking.

_That felt right._

* * *

I bit into my chicken wrap and my eyes closed. Buttered wheat tortilla, moist chicken with a lightly seared crust, juicy bacon, crisp iceberg lettuce, spinach, tomatoes and Dad's own special honey mustard dressing. The taste of chemicals was muted underneath the natural flavors. I used to think that his wraps were just okay. I'd eaten enough of them for lunch or dinner that it just became that one uncomplicated thing Dad could make reliably that was tasty, and trust me, after you eat enough of something you tend to get sick of it.

I hadn't even finished my wrap and I was wishing there was more. Savory was doing the same thing to my taste buds that sweet did: overwhelm. I don't think I could get sick of Dad's chicken wraps anymore. I was even reluctant to swallow, just wanting to keep the flavors on my tongue as long as possible. I found myself wondering about all the foods I'd taken for granted, like sodas or pizza. What would they taste like to me now?

What if I had something _truly_ decadent, like cheesecake?

Eventually, I swallowed. I was actually sad to do it. I grabbed a bit of trail mix and found my eyes closing again as the white chocolate chip hit my tongue with the salted peanuts and dried cranberries.

"Oh my god."

I think I could actually get addicted to food.

"That good, huh?" Dad asked, eyebrows raised as I went digging for another white chocolate chip, this time with walnuts and cashews. The almonds smelled bitter, and those I avoided. His face was still a little pale. By his lunch was the printed summary of my medical report. It covered the basics of the differences, but was mostly focused on what it meant for me. At the bottom of each page was a bolded, enlarged red message: **If any complications arise, please call this emergency number!**

I nodded as I popped the nut and chocolate mix into my mouth. "Delicious."

I had to try ice cream.

Dad looked around the cafeteria. It was a lot emptier than it had been the last time I'd been here, but that might not be my fault. It was almost lunch time. While there were a good number of troopers having the lunch special, many more had likely opted to go to their favorite eatery downtown or brought their own lunches.

That was what I was telling myself. A few of the windows that had cracked from this morning were covered in opaque plastic sealed with duct tape. We had a round table in the corner by one of the side doors. The thoughts of the troopers that were not familiar with me were a lot more positive than those who were. There were a few exceptions, but 'wary' was the word of the day.

As was 'volatile.'

Dad was gathering up courage. "Taylor, you know – "

"I know," I said. There were things about being human that are taken for granted. Right up until someone tells you, you aren't human anymore. That went further than allergens and nutritional requirements. Amy called me an almost viable new species, and I was the only one on Earth. "I don't want to talk about it."

My father deflated and the guilty twinge I felt almost physically hurt. I had to throw him a bone. "It doesn't change anything, does it?"

Dad smiled. Weakly, but it was there and so was the uptick in his mood. "It doesn't," he said firmly.

I knew it wouldn't, but hearing him say it had a stronger effect on me. There were downsides to having my powers. A lot of them. None of them really mattered to me at all. If I could be a hero and make a difference, have my Dad support me, then all of the technicalities of biology were just that.

Technicalities.

I smiled back at my Dad and took another bite of my chicken.

Yum.

Lunch time had ended, my Dad and I still at our table just talking about stuff like if I wanted to try going to Arcadia or be homeschooled and the lawsuit Dad was pushing against Winslow, when Armsmaster walked into the cafeteria.

I knew he was looking for me so I quickly swallowed my mouth full of trail mix. Even though I knew that was the reason I had even swallowed in the first place, I caught myself with my hand back in the bag grabbing more as the hero approached our table.

"Mr. Hebert," he greeted my father politely and nodded to me as I gave in and ate the last of the trail mix. "Taylor."

Chewing, I just nodded back.

"Anything I can help you with?" Dad asked him. "I thought you weren't going to start testing her for another hour."

"The schedule has not changed," he admitted with a bit of impatience he couldn't hide from me. He was on a time limit, and wanted to get tasks done quickly. "However, there is one of her apparent abilities that she has yet to repeat: the material she created at Winslow High. I have secured permission for an excursion out to the site and see if she," he turned to me. "You can remove it so that classes can resume."

Almost unbidden, the notes of a melody from a dream started drifting through my head. "Yes," I said haltingly. A shiver went down my spine. "I think I can."

Armsmaster smiled. He had a nice one, proud and triumphant. His thoughts were just as proud. He was going out of his way to build a rapport with me, not because he liked me in particular although it seemed like he didn't dislike me, but because he could see the writing on the wall. My powers were strong enough to have gotten the Chief Director to pull strings and Armsmaster was very driven.

He didn't see me as a stepping stone. There wasn't any malice there. Just calm, calculated practicality.

I fought to keep my composure as I stood up from my chair. I crumpled the plastic bag filled with crumbs of nuts in my hand and stalked to the garbage can. Armsmaster, the hero, he was using me. I dropped the bag into the trash. Yes, he was but he also hadn't deceived me yet. I let out a breath. Before Costa-Brown, I was just a parahuman that had caused the city to panic and he wanted me to believe him. That I was not at fault, just another victim. I wanted to believe in him now too.

The second breath was easier as the knot in my chest reluctantly eased. I drew myself back into the only person's head I was in, was my own. For a moment, the world felt like it was too quiet without the buzzing murmurs at the edge of my awareness.

It felt lonely.

"I'm ready to go," I said as I walked back to the table. Armsmaster nodded and already started walking out. I lingered.

"My hero," Dad said with a smile. "See you when you get back."

I bent down and gave him a quick squeeze before rushing off after the Protectorate hero.

"I checked out a single transport van," Armsmaster told me as we walked the corridors leading to the front entrance. "I am hoping that you will be able to manipulate the material on site, however should it turn out that you can't, we have other options."

"Like?" I asked as the sliding glass doors parted. Just as he said there was a van parked out front in front of a construction crew dealing with the busted street light. When some of the men looked over, I bowed my head, feeling my face flush with shame.

"Removing that section of the wall." Armsmaster handed me what looked a lot like a Bluetooth ear bud with a soft gel hook to go around the ear and a small, thin microphone coming off it. "There is someone that wants to talk to you."

I took the earbud and put it on. It felt a bit weird, but whoever made it also made the hook too shallow to really dig into the back of my ear. It was quickly warming against my skin and seemed to adjust itself. The discomfort passed quickly.

"Nice to meet you, Taylor," a woman said. I halted before the opened back of the van and shot Armsmaster a look as he got on his motorcycle. "I am Dragon."

Oh. Shit. "H-hi."

"Hello," she laughed and I felt my face burn. "Armsmaster told me of what you two were going to try, and I wanted to ask if you would mind me sitting in? The material you made has fascinating properties."

Dragon was calling the stuff I made fascinating. I woodenly got into the van and closed the door as I thought about what to say without giving in to the urge to gush all over her. That was damn hard to do. My hero worship was fluttering in my stomach like moths trapped under the palm of my hand. Armsmaster works with Dragon? He told Dragon about me?

"_Idon'tmind_!" I bit my tongue to stop from saying anything else.

"Great," she said warmly. The van started up and began to pull away from the PRT building. "Is there anything you might be able to tell me about the material?" She checked her enthusiasm. "Or want to tell me?"

"Music," I blurted out.

"Pardon?"

I bit down on the knuckle of my index finger. I needed to get a hold of myself. "When I think about it," I forced myself to breathe between each word. "Music comes to mind."

"Any kind of music in particular?" She sounded genuinely curious, but a prickling feeling of 'wrong' started to creep up on me.

"No, it has something to do with the extra sense I have." The van went over a bump. "It's more like I'm playing notes with my power, or maybe the vibration or pitch is what is important?" That sounded right. "I'm almost sure that's what it is."

"Interesting. Have you made any more?"

I frowned as we stopped for a light. There was nothing wrong with her voice, or anything. I decided to ignore it.

"No. I was told no unauthorized power testing." On one hand, I had to only look at the ruined bathroom on the first floor to see that Piggot had been completely justified in telling me that. On the other, technically speaking my ability to read minds was discovered via 'unauthorized power testing' and there was absolutely no harm in it. How could they hope to test what I could do if I had no actual idea of what I could do?

"I could understand that," Dragon said. "I'm sure your storms have put everyone a bit on edge."

"I can do more than storms."

"Yes, Armsmaster told me that as well."

He had talked about me to Dragon. Wow. I felt really conflicted about that given my temper tantrum this morning. God, that had been stupid, hadn't it? I couldn't help it. I was just so angry seeing Sophia standing there, a _Ward_ had been one of my bullies.

What a joke.

"Did he say anything positive about me?" I asked in a mock whine.

Dragon chuckled. "Well…"

Walking back through the hallways of my high school was an odd feeling. Just the other day, I had been running away from PRT troopers panicked, confused and buck naked. Now I was walking behind Armsmaster, considerably more clothed and not a fugitive. In a little under two days those two agents that had been guarding my locker would be out of containment. It was a little bizarre how quickly things changed.

Armsmaster held the door open for me and I walked in. My locker was in the middle of the hall, in between a pair of windows. Details that I had missed the first time were almost painfully obvious now. All of the windows in this hall were broken. They were covered up with cork board and plastic. The fluorescent light casings were busted and it was colder here. They must have turned off the power to this wing and with school out, no one saw fit to fix anything.

Not with my locker there.

There was a sweeping crest of bone jutting out of the lockers. It had escaped my locker, crushing the ones on either side of it and growing up along the wall with a bit on the ceiling. Sharp, flat edges gently curled out and upwards, narrowing into points layer by layer. It was if someone had dipped a thin paintbrush into the bone and with a flick of the wrist painted it out. The edges at the end of the brush's width were almost translucent. It had an organic look to it, pockmarked with pits and no harsh edges.

"Do you hear that?" I asked.

Armsmaster glanced down at me. "What?"

"I'm not picking up any sound," Dragon noted.

It was like someone was playing a single note on a pan pipe a few rooms away. Muffled just enough that it was more an impression of a sound, subliminal, and easy to lose among other noises.

"The bone." I don't know what made me do it, but the next thing I knew I was singing the note. It echoed down the hallway and I cut myself off, mortified. "That."

"That," Dragon said through my ear bud as I dragged a hand down my face. "Was a perfectly pitched A4." She was smiling. I knew she was. "You have a nice voice."

I groaned out loud and picked up the pace until I was jogging, only slowing to a stop when I was within arm's reach of the bone. The note was still frustratingly quiet even though I was standing in front of its origin. Up close, the bone seemed to make the dream I had and the song more real. Armsmaster came up behind me with his loud, clunking steps.

"Look," he said, pointing at a ragged hole that led into the heart of the bone. "That is noticeably smaller than it had been last night."

"By roughly fourteen percent, yes, I see it," Dragon noted. "Self-repairing?"

I reached my hand out and paused. "Can I?"

Armsmaster gave me the go ahead, stepping back until he was behind me and by the wall. I closed the rest of the distance and gasped.

The bone was warm, pulsing. I became aware of its presence unfurling in the space between like a small leaf floating on top of water. Tiny channels, veins and blood vessels, circuitry in the circuit board, pipes carrying water and electricity perforated the real world as it bled potential.

As I stared at the bone I saw things like someone was carving ideas into my brain. Vehicles of different sizes, sleek and fast with crimson patterns from speeders to tanks, each one hovering over the ground. Giant colossus with spindly limbs and large heads powered by stars. Small planes that were all smooth curves and vicious wings. Guns from large artillery cannons to smaller pistols spitting spinning edged disks, energy weapons firing bright lances; long swords and spears encrusted in gems.

Then the vision changed, and I could hear singing. I saw buildings, beautifully bright towers and peaks above smooth, curved homes without a blemish on them. I saw people, tall and thin, in red armor with black and white detailing fighting against black skeletal machines. Giant ships drifting through space -

"Taylor!"

I snapped back, and the bone was just bone.

"Sorry." My hand had sunk into the bone and I pulled it out. I flexed my tingling fingers and gently touched the hole my hand had made. It was hard and smooth. This could be shaped, I realized. That was what the vision had been telling me. This stuff was malleable. I turned to look at Armsmaster. "I just got a lot of ideas for this."

Dragon made a noise. "You're a tinker too?"

Armsmaster was elated. He didn't smile, but the corner of his mouth kept twitching up. "What kind of ideas did you get?"

"Weapons." I licked my lips as I turned back to the bone. I decided to keep the full contents of the vision, of seeing people that looked like how I did now, spaceships and strange enemies to myself. I really didn't want to be called crazy right now. "Armor, tanks and speeders. Stuff like that."

"That's quite a mix," Armsmaster commented, pleased. "And it's all based on this material?"

"Wraithbone." I winced as soon as I said it. "That doesn't sound very heroic, I know. It was just something I came up with at the top of my head."

"Wraithbone," Dragon repeated speculatively. "Well, I like it."

"It's up to the Public Relations department," Armsmaster shrugged.

I will call it whatever I want. It's my power. I knew better than to say that out loud. "I think I can shape this."

I reached out again. No vision this time but the thousands of tiny channels within the bone lit up under my hand. This would not be like the time I blew out the bathroom wall, I knew. Then I had just pushed at the space and made it move. The bone seemed to be a siphon, reacting to me. I didn't have to move the space. I had to make the bone move.

It was a leaf on the surface of a pond.

I held my breath as I tapped that leaf. The wraithbone chimed, a sound I knew only I could hear. Nothing exploded. Emboldened, I leaned into it with my hand, reinforcing my movement with gentle taps and the bone collapsed in as I pushed at it. This felt crude, but it was working. I put both hands on the column rising along the wall and pushed down, imagining that I was pulling on a rope. Plaster and paint fell in dust and chips as the bone broke away from the wall.

"Amazing," Dragon said as I pushed the sharp edges into the main body of the bone leaving behind a smooth surface.

I laughed.

I reached up, standing on my tip toes and pulled the drooped column down slowly and merged it with the growing ball of bone. I started humming under my breath the dream melody as I worked. It was as if I had regressed in age and was playing with Play dough in Winslow's halls. The feeling I used to get when reading a good book or watching an interesting TV show, that kind of empty bliss as time flew by, came back with a vengeance.

I could spend all day doing this.

Too soon I was done. A large ball of bone that came up to my chest sat on the floor. It was a perfect sphere, but instead of rolling away as soon as I took my hand off it, it stood still on its single point of contact to the tiling.

Without the bone, there was just the crushed remains of three lockers. I stared down at my broken textbooks with stained pages. My back up pencils and pens were snapped into pieces. The filth my bullies had filled my locker with was on the floor, thankfully dried out with just a hint of a rotten smell wafting off it. It still made me gag. Suddenly exposed to the open air, earwigs, beetles and other bugs skittered around, looking for cover.

I shuddered and turned away.

"Impressive." Armsmaster put a hand on the ball and gently rolled it. "It's lightweight. Self-repairing, malleable, conductive." He looked up at me. "I will have to ask you to let me use some of this for a few projects."

"I second that request," Dragon added.

I grinned, giddy. "Sure."

Together, we rolled the ball down the hall and out of the school to the parking lot where ramps were dropped from the back of the van. Rolling it in, I caught sight of Armsmaster's bike. My eyes swung back to my ball. My fingers tightened on the bone. I had enough, I thought.

I pointed at the bike. "Do you think I could borrow some of your designs for that?"


	5. Chapter 5

**_Seer_**

There was a blond man waiting for me in the lobby of the PRT building.

He walked over to me with a small smile playing on his face as I stood there, frozen. A PRT tag was hanging from the pocket on his white shirt. There were black stripes on the shoulders and he had a black and silver tie on. He winked from behind thin-rimmed glasses.

"I heard through the grapevine that you might be working with us soon, hm?" He flapped his tag that read 'WEDGDGD Department – Specialist.' "I was in the area and got contracted to test you for the division. Watchdog, economic oversight department, Dylan Brandough."

His smile broke into a grin. "But my friends, they call me Number Man."

* * *

He armored himself in normalcy. He wore one of his favorite button-up shirts, black and white, and thin-rimmed glasses. Black slacks and shoes with a silver wristwatch that matched the black and silver tie he wore, blond hair cut into a short style that was easy to maintain and a slim black briefcase completed the look. To anyone on the street, he wouldn't appear to be anything but a bookish middle-aged man.

He can tell though. The girl sees right through him.

She froze first, deer-in-headlights in blatant surprise and then she was just still. Cat green eyes focused on him with such intensity that he paused. As though penciled in the air, in thread-thin, elaborate notation, he could see the vectors and angles of her gaze. The numbers circled her eyes to track the minute shifts, the numbers clicking into place with a speed that made everything else seem like slow motion. There were no numbers elsewhere, static, complete and absolute control of her movement so that there were no involuntary twitches.

Interesting.

_He thinks it in numbers, a cipher of his own making created for the off chance, the just in case, the lone outlier of true telepathy. He enjoyed the symbolism. He understood numbers, and through them, he understood everything._

The second storm over Brockton Bay was the perfect excuse for a Chief Director to check in, and ask if anything had changed about what the girl could do. They had intel that the girl was a potential Trump. Very good intel. This was a risk, of course. It was a carefully calculated risk. They'd excised as many variables as was possible, but in the end they had to roll the dice and see where they fell. He counted the seconds in his head.

"Um, hi?" Hebert, Taylor. Maelstrom. The name worked, he decided. Something wild and uncontrolled. Powerful. It just happens and there wasn't a damn thing you could do about it. Standing there in a turtle neck, blue jeans and sneakers, she looked fragile. She reached out to shake his hand and she had a strong grip. "How is the Chief Director?"

He can't help the amusement, remembering how Rebecca had kicked him out of his office yesterday.

_Cute kid._

And one not inclined to dig into dark closets in search of skeletons, it seemed. Did she close the door, or was it open and she just hadn't gone further yet?

"Busy," he replied, giving her hand a firm shake. Busier now with a vested interest in Brockton Bay. He briefly wondered if anyone was going to update Thomas, or just let him figure it out for himself. The latter, he decided. "It's not every day the Chief starts calling in favors. A kid in Watchdog?" He leaned a little closer, smiling wider. She's taller than him. "Licensed precognizant, maybe, but the division?" He almost clucked his tongue. He needed to pull back on the act. "Wonder how useful your powers really are."

His internal timer counted down as Maelstrom's eyes narrowed in challenge. The numbers start scrolling before he realized that she was shifting. The way she carried herself. Her center of gravity. The tilt of her head and even the way the fingers of her hand curled and twitched as if it longed to hold something. The numbers tell him the width and breadth of the imaginary object. Handle of a knife.

She smiled that reckless grin and his cipher cracked.

_I'll play, though._

_Play?_

_Make a name for myself._

His watch let out a harsh, piercing beep and Maelstrom reeled back as if she'd been slapped. He checked the time. 1:23 pm. He stopped his count and encrypted his thoughts again.

"It's rude to snoop, you know," the Number Man commented. Maelstrom was visibly off balance, wondering the who, what and why. Cautious too because they have both dropped the act and if he had to guess, what she saw is fueling that caution. Maybe she saw two bloodstained boys with knives over a body.

Maybe she saw something else.

The dice were still rolling. A few visions without context were unlikely to be truly damaging and he could afford to burn his heroic connections.

He would keep the name, though. A measure of respect to an old friend.

"You were asking for it," Maelstrom finally muttered. In the background he heard the buzzing of the work crews talking to each other over the sound of their tools. The front desk was occupied by a bored clerk. There would be no costumed heroes for another two minutes.

"Fair enough," he said. He had been and she had obliged. That was important. "I really am here to test you, though."

"For who?"

He smiled.

"Watchdog." He can see she's not sure whether or not to believe him, so he flicked his PRT ID tag again. "The other evaluator is at the Rig, taking a look at the testing equipment. I wanted to get a first impression of you, what you're like."

She didn't say anything for several long moments. The silence was not awkward, even if it easily could be. She was thinking. Good trait to have.

"So…" She trailed off as she looked to the side. Self-conscious. "Did I pass?"

"Test hasn't ended yet."

Her eyes snapped back to him, judging. "I see."

_Do you?_

"One thing about the division you should keep in mind. Not everyone working there has the benefit of a clean past." That was true of most organizations, of most people. It was the human condition. Society as a whole was wrapped in polite fictions, and everyone at some point in their lives would see through the paper-thin veneer.

Some saw it more clearly than others.

"But we are all there for one purpose, working towards one goal."

"And that goal is?"

"Saving the world."

It was January 9th, 2011. The year was still in the limbo of muscle memory, habitual penmanship still writing 2010 so soon after the start of the new year. This was the month long window, sometimes three weeks where people around the world began to stock up on supplies, double check their disaster policies and shelters.

He knew what the graphs and charts would show. The numbers of value outlining the subtle build of tension. All the world was a stage, waiting for the act to begin, the blow to fall.

Endbringer.

43.080579, -70.900586.

Brockton Bay. The city was a collection of numbers and statistics. Demographics and economics. Those two numbers were the latitude and longitude coordinates of the city. Draw a straight line up to the upper atmosphere.

Those were the coordinates of the Simurgh.

"Do you think I could do it? Save the world?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. They hoped, but no one could say for sure. They were still missing a lot of the pieces, but it was one less missing. They would guard it jealously. "You'll get a chance to try, though."

"When?"

He shrugged and thought one word in letters and sound. Soon. "You still have to be evaluated. Your postcognition and clairvoyance, general intelligence in certain fields, if you have any form of precognition. The tests are thorough, and will take place after the generic testing in other categories."

"And then?"

"Then we'll see."

* * *

01110011 01100101 01100101 01110010

* * *

He did see her afterwards.

The room was relatively small with the domed ceiling common in rooms on the refurbished oil rig. It had a simple, varnished wooden table against the eastern wall with his briefcase, open, and laptop with a fractal pattern screensaver. The west wall just had a large, reclined chair with foot, arm and head rests. The dusty tarp that had covered it was crumpled in the corner by the door. That was the only chair in the room. The others he pushed outside to line the corridor.

He never did his thinking sitting down.

"Just start the ball moving," he said into the cellphone trapped between his shoulder and ear as he taped another page to the board. "Work calls."

He hung up.

Maelstrom was almost glowing in happiness, bouncing on her toes with a giddy joy that wouldn't quit as she walked towards the room by her handler. They both were talking animatedly, words weaving around and in between each other in half-sentences like gushing pre-teen girls. He didn't bother trying to understand the babble.

"Testing went well," he said over them. After they quieted, he continued, "You do show signs of precognition."

"Really?" The pitch Maelstrom's voice hit with that squeal made him wince.

"Preliminary report," he said, gesturing to his briefcase. "During reflex testing, you dipped into the negatives. You hit the right button before the image even appeared on screen."

That wasn't impressive on its own. The fact was, it wasn't on its own. His cohort, Michael from the PRT had given him a page with check marks in _every_ single officially recognized Thinker category.

Extrasensory, enhanced cognitive, information gathering, post-cognition, clairvoyance and precognition.

If he could coax some range out of precognition, then that only increased her value as an asset. Her ability to see Scion alone had the Chief Director's hand poised over a button labeled 'relocate the Heberts.' Destination? As far as another Earth if need be.

"But let's start with your post-cognition first." He waved a hand at the reclined chair and with the other slid his phone onto the table. He nodded at the blonde woman serving as Maelstrom's handler. "If you would excuse us?"

The testing session would be recorded on the small camera in the ceiling above the door. He was not worried about the tape.

Maelstrom hopped into the chair, literally. The seat made a creaking, rusty groan as she settled into it. He swiped a finger across the laptop screen as he passed it and chased the handler out with the door, closing it firmly. He went back to the computer.

"Any preference in white noise?" He asked. He was a visual person, a quirk of his power perhaps. Some tips and tricks from the time before parahumans were still valid, even if no one actually had powers back then. For best parapsychology results, reduce sensory input. However, silence could be distracting. He moved, paced, tapped his foot or twirled a pen.

Maelstrom fought to calm down. "Water. Waves."

He searched through his sound list and soon sounds that could have been recorded right at the local waterfront played through the laptop speakers.

"Alright." The Number Man moved to the board of papers. It was a conspiracy theorist's board, full of newspaper clippings and articles. Dates and times underlined in red ink. None of these incidents were televised, but they dominated the news reporting for months after. Until another city came under attack. He had color coded thumbtacks, paperclips and string. He didn't put them on the board yet. The connections were for her to make.

"Endbringer attacks," Maelstrom said quietly. Her cat green eyes flickered over the clippings and images and pages.

He set out blank lined paper from the briefcase and grabbed a pen from his pocket. He spun it around one finger. The notation billowed around it, and through it, he could see the movement of the pen, the plotted trajectory, the velocity and rotation of it.

Without the pen, without input and output there could be no data. Cause and effect. They had the output, the results, the consequence, the aftermath. The Endbringers were incongruities, unknowns. He needed more notation, more numbers to work with. He could extrapolate, but he needed a point of reference.

There was more data on Behemoth. It had been around longer, attacked more places. They would start there.

The girl in the chair. Hebert, Taylor. Maelstrom.

_Ready to save the world?_

* * *

This was a test, I thought.

The emotional high I had been riding on drained away.

The whiteboard on wheels was covered with incident reports that mapped the entire timeline of Earth Bet's trouble with Endbringers. No one knew exactly what they were. Insanely powerful villain capes? Aliens? Monsters? Behemoth and Leviathan were only vaguely humanoid, but the Simurgh looked like she could have been a fifteen-foot cape. Who they were or what they wanted were mysteries. Only one thing was certain: They were the reason the entire world was going down the drain.

"There are some rules they follow. One at a time, three to four months apart stretching to six months, and they don't hit the same place twice in a short amount of time." The Number Man's pen spun faster. "They are drawn to areas of vulnerability, where they can cause the most damage."

The oldest event listed on the board was the sighting of Behemoth on December, 13th, 1992 in an Iranian oil field about three years before I was born. Behemoth was a dynakinetic, capable of manipulating all forms of energy. From kinetic to radiation. I wasn't an expert on Behemoth, but already something wasn't fitting quite right.

"Why an oil field?"

There was a quiet slapping sound as the Number Man caught his spinning pen. "The world economy is dependent on oil. The loss of the second largest oil field in Iran inflated the prices, prices that didn't go back down."

His thoughts were still strange. Somehow, he'd bent himself to think in numbers. Bits of data flashed by almost too fast for me to grasp so eventually, I stopped trying. The trick wasn't perfect. I could still follow the gist of what he was thinking in concepts and images. It was as if I saw exactly what he was thinking, but it just wasn't mapping to comprehension right. Sometimes a thought or two escaped whatever he was doing and came through loud and clear.

_Ready to save the world?_

"That's all economic impact. Was there a city or something built on that oil field?"

"No," he said.

If I had power over radiation and wanted to kill a lot of people, I would just make a bomb and it wouldn't be in an oil field. It was Behemoth's first appearance, so it was too early to say it was the smoking gun.

But I felt like it was the smoking gun.

Leviathan four years later on June 9th, 1996 in Oslo, Norway. He was a powerful hydrokinetic, capable of causing tidal waves and storms. Oslo was coastal city, so superficially that fit but Norway? Maybe that was just my American bias speaking, but couldn't it have picked a better place than Norway? If it wanted to cause damage, what about New York? Or Shanghai?

I searched the board. He had hit Shanghai, but over five years later. Behemoth had attacked New York, but Leviathan had just allowed it to be rebuilt. He sunk Kyushu and Newfoundland. Why? To attack a place of vulnerability, meant to rub salt into the wound. To destroy rebuilding efforts, to turn a bad situation worse.

Newfoundland was _gone._

What vulnerability did he attack? He sunk a piece of the North American coast. He sunk an entire island.

Why did he only do that twice?

The Simurgh appeared five years after Leviathan, December 31st, 2002 in Lausanne, Switzerland. The newspaper clipping was paradoxically benign compared to the rest. The authorities had thought her similar to Scion. Strange, mute, somewhat cooperative and clearly parahuman. Case 53? The article's writer had asked leading to a small tangent about the 'monstrous' capes that were just beginning to be recognized as a phenomenon.

And then a few months later the country exploded in violence. The country's declining nuclear weapons program saw a dramatic spike in activity declared an adjacent report. A spokesperson for the Federal council of Switzerland raving on television with bloodshot eyes was captured as an image. Under imminent nuclear threat, the world mobilized. The entire nation of Switzerland was eventually quarantined.

The Simurgh was known for creating 'time-bombs' out of people. A city that was deemed 'too exposed' to her was shut away. There was a report speculating that she had tried to use Switzerland to cripple Earth's defense against the Endbringers.

If that was her goal, then the Simurgh was an _idiot._

She could have waited years. She could have played us for fools for as long as she wanted. She could fly, she could have traveled to other countries. She could have pretended to be a cape like we had thought she was. She could have chosen a country that already had an active nuclear weapons program. When the time-bomb finally went off, there would have been no resistance.

None of this was making any sense!

Dylan Brandough, the Number Man was looking at me. "Figured something out?"

"They could do more damage. A lot more. They aren't." His head cocked to the side and I pointed at the board. "Newfoundland and Kyushu."

"Ah," he said and looked at the board as well.

"The Simurgh chose Switzerland, a country without nuclear bombs."

He nodded amiably. He already knew this. I wasn't pointing out anything special. I chewed on the inside of my cheek. What reason would a being as powerful as the Endbringers have for being so tactically retarded? Were they just strong but stupid?

Like Scion, I thought. I felt bad after I thought it. It was true though. The man had no sense of priorities at all. I read stories on the PHO of him rescuing a boy and his dog in a tsunami, and letting a hospital be swept away. He stopped the tidal waves about an hour later.

I tapped my fingers on my arm rest. If the Endbringers were stupid, then that didn't explain why they only attacked one at a time. That suggested coordination, and more importantly coordination not to divide and conquer. They show up, do damage and then let themselves be driven off.

My fingers stopped tapping.

Let?

My eyes found the board again. Newfoundland and Kyushu.

Yes, let.

The Endbringers never won, but Leviathan proved that if they wanted to, they wouldn't lose.

"I'm going to look at Behemoth's first sighting," I said. I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes. It took about a minute of slow breathing but eventually, I could feel the waves inside my head. Behemoth. I shifted through the ripples. There were three beings on Earth that were holes in the in between. The Simurgh's strange effect I left completely alone, which left two others. The area directly around them was still, no ripples, waves or currents.

I could see them, why didn't my power work? I shoved my agitation out of my skull and tried to focus. Dylan Brandough's emotions were bland, almost damaged. I shifted and found my father, impatient and bored. I touched everyone in the building and felt their emotions wash over me.

Emotions.

I willed myself to look at the Simurgh. To really look at her. She was at the center of a tangled skein of her own making, yes, but she was empty.

"The Endbringers have no emotions," I said out loud.

"You can see them, all of them?" Mr. Brandough asked. I could hear him writing something down.

"Yes." I couldn't see them directly, then what about indirectly? I settled again, listening to the waves. It occurred to me then, that I had no idea how to do this. I wasn't going to say that though. The last time I did things I had no idea I could do I had been apocalyptically angry. Making myself angry wasn't a desirable situation for anybody in Brockton Bay. So, I did the next best thing.

I opened myself up to the space in between. The whispers came back. The light in the room flickered. The space in between pressed into me, and then began to sluggishly flow through. I stopped for a moment. Was closing myself off to this my Manton Limit? It wasn't something I was doing consciously. It felt like letting my guard down.

I breathed and let the rest of the barriers fall. My mind drifted on a current, backwards. December 13th, 1992, I thought dimly. I pulled myself along by floating threads. Images flashed by in my mind. Winters became falls became summer then spring, over and over. I rewound through history, flashing all over the globe. The whispers were almost comprehensible now, saying strange things and distracting me. I batted them away.

There!

I grabbed onto threads and slowed. An image I had just glimpsed out the corner of my awareness floated back into reach as I let the threads gently slip through my grasp until I had just one. My grip on it tightened.

_Show me._

My power obliged.

* * *

01110011 01100101 01100101 01110010

* * *

The girl in the chair was crackling with lightning.

"He appeared miles away from the oil field," Maelstrom said in a voice that seemed to echo _into_ his head. "The parahumans on site, the Protecorate and local heroes, Iranian military are there for disaster relief. Earthquake. It has been hours and the aftershocks were getting stronger until they stopped."

The Number Man ignored the goosebumps prickling on his skin. The room had gotten colder. He considered what he just been told. She could see Eidolon. "I've read those reports. What stands out to you?"

"The theatrics." She murmured a word that wasn't in any language he had ever heard of. "He moves slowly."

"What about it is theatrics?"

"He has a destination. He is moving. You have a destination. You drive there. A few miles away, do you get out of your car to walk?"

"He wanted people to see him coming," he muttered, thinking it over.

"Wanted?" Maelstrom paused. "Showmanship implies an ego, pride. The Endbringers do not feel. Eidolon strikes it with a bolt of energy, blood spurts and it reacts, but it does not flinch." Underneath her eyelids, her eyes move rapidly back and forth as if in REM sleep. She has moved from addressing Behemoth as 'he' to 'it.' He noted this down. "It has set the oil field alight. The local authorities have been destroyed by arcing lightning and burning from the inside out. Hero sets the urgency, the evacuation."

"What is Behemoth trying to do, what his goal?"

"It is fighting the Triumvirate. Eidolon and Alexandria are unaffected at close range. Legend is using his Breaker state to heal periodic damage, burst eardrums and eyes, internal hemorrhaging. It is taking a lot of damage but it is not noticeably hindered." She stopped. "Eye is not vulnerable, no effect. Moves at the same speed. Unaffected by blood loss. No change in blood pressure, no arteries."

The Endbringers were not Case 53s. That he knew for a fact.

Maelstrom's hands clenched on the arm rests as the lights flickered again. Number Man looked up. The PHQ had its own power generators. There shouldn't be a power incontinence issue.

"Behemoth is no longer moving forward. It is not hindered. This is its goal. Fighting." She flinched. "It could have killed Eidolon," she said slowly. "It didn't."

The Number Man sucked in a breath. A half formed suspicion rose in his mind. For years, Eidolon had been almost a god amongst gods. Ten years ago, the claim that Behemoth could have killed him would have been dismissed out of hand. "How do you know?"

"The scene repeats over and over," she said faintly. "It's a show, a play, a drama. Alexandria is hitting, but her physical strength pales. Legend is buzzing, swatted at like a fly. Insignificant. It is only the man in green. It's always him. He is at the epicenter."

"Of the fight?"

Maelstrom's eyes opened. They were sparking with energy. "Of everything."

The Number Man stared. Frost was beginning to form on the walls and the tiled floor. He breathed and it came out as a white mist.

"The fights Eidolon isn't in the leading role; they do more damage. Kysushu and Newfoundland. Moscow. Ankara. Shanghai and Bogota. When he is there, it is a dance."

"He's the strongest parahuman after Scion," the Number Man said. He began to spin his pen out of sheer nerves. He found himself wishing he hadn't closed the door. "He has the ability to direct the battlefield."

The corner of Maelstrom's lips turned up. "I can see Eidolon weakening. The decline over the past ten years has been sharp. Why has Scion not taken his place as the _harlequin in the masque?"_

She jerked suddenly, as if having a seizure. _"Something's coming."_

* * *

_"Why has Scion not taken his place as the harlequin in the masque?"_

The ocean was made of spider webs. My mind danced along billions of threads, flitting across the surface of Earth in the blink of an eye. I floated through time as I sorted through the strands of the Endbringers' violent history. I watched my childhood hero Alexandria as she held down Leviathan with all of her strength as a local villain increased her leverage. I watched Legend as Behemoth's roar burst his eyes in their sockets and crushed organs, so used to the pain he just coughed before becoming brilliant light. I watched Eidolon. Exhilaration became frustration became desperation. Each fight he was grasping, reaching to be more than he was if only…

I reached, and left my body behind. I could see it. I could see _everything._

Behemoth and Leviathan preferred large cities, I saw. It was a campaign of terror. Not even the hearts of civilization were safe or could be protected. Busan, Buenos Aires, Sydney, Madrid, Ankara, Hyderabad. All cities with millions of people, centers of commerce and trade, and that attracted hundreds of defenders. They are drawn to areas of vulnerability, I remembered the Number Man had said. Where they can cause the most damage.

Damage here, and here and there. Yes. I could see it. The cities, the locations, the people themselves were not vulnerable. Behemoth and Leviathan created vulnerabilities. The breakdown of control and order in the aftermath, surge of crime and violence, more parahumans. Ripple effects. Leviathan had eroded the Australian economy without touching its shores. A country dependent on imported fuel and goods faced with other nations having their port cities destroyed. The thread I held filled me with a bone-deep certainty as I watched the hydrokinetic attack Sydney in 1998.

Leviathan would never revisit Australia. It did not need to.

The Simurgh did not attack large cities. Lausanne had been tiny in comparison, barely over a hundred thousand souls. The attack on London had been restricted to a suburb on the outskirts, fifty thousand. Madison, two hundred thousand. La Ceiba, two hundred thousand. Aurangabad, one hundred thousand. The largest offense was Luxembourg at five hundred thousand.

After the Simurgh appeared, the threads changed.

Behemoth attacked Lyon barely two months after the Simurgh descended on the London suburb. Behemoth had already attacked Lyon three years prior. It was the first, and only, instance of a repeat.

Homestead, Florida. Less than a hundred thousand people, barely more than fifty thousand. My view of the city was of a suburban town with no buildings over five stories and palm trees lining the roads. The town was surrounded by fields of produce and isolated industrial complexes. It was here in 2005 that Behemoth finally did what it should have done back in 1992:

Attack a nuclear power plant.

The defenders had all been poised to defend the nearest major city of Miami, expecting Behemoth to follow the pattern of attack it had followed for over a decade. By the time they realized that the pattern had broken, it was too late. The fallout drifted over Miami and to other surrounding locales. Poisoned the water and air. I remembered it being on the news while I was in middle school.

I shifted and found Newfoundland. After the Simurgh, the attacks were no longer about terror. That was a side effect. They were about results.

I reached out for a thread, and then pulled back as I saw another thread wrapped around it, choking it. I followed the strand of influence. It led to a hole in space. I pulled back and twisted, bringing up the image of an angel in orbit.

You.

The Simurgh.

I looked over the world. I felt like I had stumbled into the middle of a chess game with billions of pieces. There was hints of a strategy. The knights had been moved to here. The rooks had an opening here. These pawns had been sacrificed. The Queens were being held in reserve.

But for what?

I floated in the ocean. I tried to parse the information to feed back to my body and my mouth. Images, feelings, concepts washed up against me in waves, almost physical things I could touch and turn over in my hand to examine. In turn, they examined me. Feelings of curiosity that brushed up against the edges of my existence, tasting. It was comforting almost. Familiar.

After that little breather, I turned back to the ocean. The ebb and flow filtered through me. The almost playful presences abruptly vanished. I felt a little trickle of unease. Far out, far enough to register as a slight distance, the waves moved. It was like I was in the bay, treading deep water off the Boardwalk and off in the distance, there was a slight bump of water that I knew was wrong.

There was another movement, closer. I whirled around, looking for my body in the ocean of spider webs. I had the feeling that I just found the spider. Or it found me. Raw, existential fear welled up in me.

_Something's coming._

I didn't know what it was. I didn't know why. This was my power, wasn't it? How could I be in danger? No time, no time! I scrambled to collect myself from the threads, drag myself back into the here and now. Half-formed theories and glimpsed, muddled visions leading into the future; I felt a pang of loss as I abandoned them, just running from the movement in the ocean blindly. I had to get back to my body.

I had to get back now.

The waves suddenly felt turgid, slow to move as I could almost feel the distance to safety lengthening.

_No!_

As if sensing my urgency, a bright spot sounded in the shifting seas. It sounded like singing. Beautiful. Frantic. My body? Beacon. I rushed for it. Behind me, I felt bursts of emotion that was almost disarming. I felt a radiant joy, a bubble of hysterical humor. Glee. Then it faded before slamming me with searing hatred that raked across my back. I stumbled as I felt a piece of me just tear.

Despair slammed into me, bodily lifting me off my feet. I rolled as I tumbled. When did – no, run. I got up and I ran.

Jealousy nipped at my heels. I wasn't in my body, but I could feel them bleed.

_Movement!_

I threw myself downwards, barely missing a glimpse of a shifting mass of teeth as I turned mid fall. Beware the daemon, I heard within the song of the beacon. I reached up and tore a barb of rage out of my side. It ripped and caught and I knew it was because underneath the fear my own anger was building. That was the rational thing to do when something tries to kill you, I thought. Get angry at it. Be angry that it dared.

I landed awkwardly. No ground. My left foot traveled further down than my right did, unbalancing me as I fell forward onto my hands. I could use my powers in the physical world. Can I use my powers here? Don't rely on it, keep moving.

A shift. On some latent instinct, I reached out to the space around me and pulled. I shot forward like I had suddenly taken an uncontrolled fall horizontally. I could feel it snarl as fear bit in me. It was playing with me.

Not anymore.

As I thought that, it's presence vanished.

The ocean was calm and placid. Threads floated by me. I reached out to the right as I turned, chancing a glance behind me as I pulled on the waves with the lurch of momentum. Nothing. I scanned my surroundings. There was nothing there. Did it give up? Did it leave? I did not relax.

I turned back around.

Teeth.

I jerked backwards and felt a line burn across my chest. Fast. I immediately twisted to the side as it lunged. I was still going forwards, towards it and my hands shot out in an open palmed shove of force against grinding teeth. It was like putting fingers into a mulcher. I screamed as we rocketed away from each other. I could see through my hands between the bloody outline of bones. I was abruptly exhausted, shaking with agony. I wanted to stop. I wanted to rest.

Forget the pain, push it away, _concentrate!_

I gritted my teeth as I tore my eyes up in time to see the mass of teeth disappear into the shifting ocean.

Shift.

I pushed, reversing my momentum as my back exploded in pain and then pushed again, spinning out into a diagonal trajectory with the bright beacon of song. How was it catching up to me? What is it? I pulled down and drew the waves into me, building like a pressure in the pit of my stomach. Everything I could grab, everything I could hold. All of it. I remembered the testing dummy. I was going to try something crazy. Running. Running sounded like a good idea. But I needed to know if this thing could be hurt.

Movement.

This time I saw it coming. The creature almost seemed to spontaneously coalesce from the ocean as a massive maw made of nothing but teeth. Ambush tactics. It didn't move like I did. I launched myself to the side as it sailed past, vanishing once again. I didn't wait for it to reappear, ducking and twisting to look up as large serrated barbs split the space above me. Desperation slammed into me, jagged pointed needles.

Not my emotion, not my emotion, not mine.

_Below._

No time for finesse I simply slammed myself out of the way. It still just barely caught me. I watched teeth tear up my arm, splitting it open in a burst of blood. It was fast.

So was I.

I seized the heat in my stomach, the building pressure. I knew basic physics. Force exerted over a wide surface area disperses, reduced penetrating power. I focused on a spot right between two grinding rows of teeth. And I let go.

The radiant blast of power slammed into it at point blank range. It screamed into my face as teeth shattered. I saw part of its body give and start to fall away before it disappeared.

Not dead, _not dead!_

I bolted for the beacon in a dead rush. The desperation I felt then was mine as I gathered more from the ocean, feeling it burn through me. I was close. Within the shining brilliance, I could almost see hazy, bright figures within. I was almost there!

Shift.

I kicked myself to the side and felt its hatred bore down on me. It spoke then. Not in words, but in a guttural grinding note of aggression, conflict, consume. Realization struck me like a lightning bolt. It had changed targets. It wasn't going after me anymore. It was going after my body.

I corrected my course and shoved the power I'd been gathering for an attack into moving.

In that spot of peripheral vision where there was no focus, no images, color just movement, I could see it. I had nothing to spare, could spare nothing. Instead I just reached and to my surprise, the figures in the beacon reached back. I didn't have fingers. I felt it shift, barbs digging into my flesh to pull me back, to reel me in. The exposed bone of my hand met the shining melody.

And everything was light.

* * *

01110011 01100101 01100101 01110010

* * *

Maelstrom gasped in her chair like someone about to drown and the test room _warped._

The Number Man dove for his briefcase as everything in his line of sight bloomed with numbers. Trajectory, speed, dimensions. He twisted his upper body in exact degrees to miss the edge of the table as his right hand dove underneath the papers and folders and grabbed the knife. He hit the ground as calculated, barely feeling the impact as he came up in a combat crouch and watched something twist its way into the world through an open crack.

Teeth. It was covered in teeth. No, he realized. It was teeth. It fell to the ground before them in front of the white board, squealing with no mouth or eyes or limbs. The numbers ticked upwards, fast. So fast he couldn't follow them as his power ratcheted upwards until the numbers were a blur.

They stopped. Each category that could be measured was a single symbol.

Infinity.

On his right, Maelstrom bolted from the chair. An oval on her chest glowing fiercely as she raised both hands with a snarl of rage. A blazing corona of pale purple light crackled around her. The hairs on his arms stood on end. Thunder roared like a physical thing, literally pushing him with concussive force, bursting his eardrums as the room lit up with a flash of light.

When his sight cleared the thing of teeth was on the ground, decomposing unnaturally fast. A hole the size of his torso burnt through the white board and the metal wall behind it. And the wall behind that out to open air. He could see the water of the Bay.

The Number Man blinked and the numbers had reset. He straightened from his crouch. He went and picked up his pen. He spun it around one finger and watched the notation billow around it. The movement of the pen, the plotted trajectory, the velocity and rotation of it.

"What was that?" He said. He couldn't hear himself say it. He could feel blood trickle down the side of his face.

Maelstrom looked at him. Then she blanched, turning milk white before her eyes rolled back in her head and she crumpled to the floor.

The emergency light above him on the left hand wall turned on and he knew the alarms in the Protectorate Headquarters were blaring.

He stared at the corpse of teeth.

_Great._

* * *

01110011 01100101 01100101 01110010

* * *

I found myself standing in a formless landscape. It looked like one of those rare foggy days where the haze was so thick you could only see a few feet in any direction. I couldn't feel water vapor on my skin. It was neither hot nor cold here. There was light coming from somewhere in front of me, but it was so diffused through the cloud that I couldn't tell what was making it. I was standing on a floor so blank that it didn't have any color. I don't mean that it was black, and it wasn't exactly transparent. I could tell it was there, but physical descriptors just failed to apply.

The first few seconds, I thought that I hadn't managed to get back to my body in time. That I was stuck in a bodiless limbo of sensory deprivation. That the nightmare wasn't yet over.

I brought up my hands to look at them. They were whole again like nothing had ever happened. I flipped them over and my vision flickered between an image of darker, lined skin and stubby fingernails and the pale delicate fingers I had gotten used to. I closed my hands into fists, then opened them up again. No pain. There was no pain anywhere. My arm was uncut and my feet weren't bleeding. Had it all been –

No, I could remember waking up in my body, feeling teeth scrape and claw at the hastily raised barriers on my mind. I remembered ripping it off like it was a parasite before it could force its way in and – I brought it into the positive space, the physical world somehow. Had I managed to kill it?

My hands clenched into fists. I better have. I looked around me. Nothing but fog. My head felt empty. I couldn't feel anything here. If it turned out that I hadn't, and I was attacked here I wouldn't be able to feel it coming.

I was not going to stand here waiting to die. North, south, west, east; none of that meant anything here but there was the light. Given my recent experiences, I might have been predisposed towards heading towards it in spite of that one saying. I started walking and to my relief, I could visually see progress. The last thing I needed right now was an impossible destination.

It turned out the light was coming from a strange clearing. I passed through fog that seemed thicker and I actually felt it. A cool, tingling sensation as I crossed the barrier and suddenly there was geometry and sound. Odd house sized bone shapes protruded from the floor, each playing soft, ephemeral notes. There were small, individual wisps of light that rushed to surround me and I could feel presences in them. Emotions. Relief and joy were the strongest. They were happy to see me?

Bigger wisps had more complex feelings. I caught a sense of safety attached to the relief, valued and young came with joy. I wasn't that young. Some expressed a vague scolding and disbelieving. I didn't know what for. Me? Something I did? I reached out to one of the small ones. I expected it to be something I could interact with, maybe figure out a little of what was going on, where I was and what they were.

It settled warmly in my palm, trailing scraps of light. A vision invaded my mind's eye. Monsters. Giant, insectoid creatures swarming a small company of tall, thin soldiers. I was seeing through the eyes of one of them, watching an invasion. His vision swung down, wild, to see a spike of bone erupt from his chest.

The vision stopped. There was a burst of paternal love and pride and hope. Then the small wisp I had just –

It just _came apart._

I tried to grab onto the pieces; hold on to the shards that were floating away. I don't know – put them back together, but they kept slipping through my fingers, breaking into smaller and smaller fragments that eventually faded into the aether.

I stood there, hands still out as the last of it curled around my thumb, like it was saying goodbye. Then it was gone.

I had the sudden, horrid feeling that I knew what all of this fog was.

I staggered backwards, away from the rest of them. The small wisps were still blindly happy, but the larger lights despaired.

"I'm sorry." My voice came out choked. "I'm so sorry."

One of the large lights floated closer exuding a feeling of reassurance. I backed away from it and it stopped, then its profile seemed to turn to the other big lights. They clustered together, silent but moving, as if they were in a weird version of a football huddle. I hugged myself, eyeing the small wisps making sure to move away when they got too close.

The big lights broke up, decision made and four out of five floated off towards the bone structures. Wraithbone, I realized. What was it doing here? The remaining large wisp remained behind, like it was waiting. It floated backwards towards the wraithbone a little, then stopped again.

"Follow you?" I felt it radiate shallow amusement and I huffed tiredly. "Fine."

Up close the wraithbone structures looked like ruins. At some point it might have been something tall and impressive with plenty of space. But right now it was just broken and scarred pieces. Only two walls of a chamber were standing, the other two crushed as if something massive had bulldozed right through it. A tower missing its upper floors. A small plaza or patio with large cracks of empty space through the floor. Everything about it was giving me this feeling of loss, the kind I got when I saw the hulking shadow of the Boat Graveyard at the Docks.

This used to be something once.

My eyes caught on what might have been a vehicle at some point. Dark scoring could be seen lining the edges of where it had broken in two. The fins at the back had snapped off and the front half had splintered into more pieces, half buried in the fog.

My guide doubled back and I stopped. It radiated a small amount of approval. "Wait here?"

Approval again.

"Okay."

The, spirits? They drifted off, sinking into the wraithbone, which then began to sing.

Crystal notes rose from the runes. It started off with a simple flute holding a long note, and then a sad melody emerged that wove around it. That quickly began to branch off into countermelodies and accompaniments of different emotional tones. There were crooning notes of longing, faster tunes of wonder and pride. It was something I could feel resonating in my chest and in my head. My eyes drifted shut as I just listened. It wasn't like anything I had ever heard before, an alien classical song that built into something bittersweet.

Then one by one the strains of music faded from the main melody until just the simple flute tune was left. And then that faded leaving the one note. Then silence.

I opened my eyes.

People.

Tall, thin pale beings in shadows of fantastical robes and armor were emerging from the wraithbone ruins. They moved the way big cats did, purposefully and graceful. I could see enough of the general details to put genders to them, three men and two women. I was tall for my age and gained an inch or two when I got my powers causing me to close in on six feet. Even the women were taller than me by half a foot or more and the men taller still. They had sharp features and their ears rose from the sides of their head to end in pointed tips. They looked like me.

The most striking was a man that felt like pride and bloodlust. He looked like he had power armor on standing at over seven feet. All of the colors were washed out and faded, but bird or angel wings rose from his back as he held a beaked helmet under an arm. He was blind in one eye; a tear I could see through cutting across his face. To his left was a hooded man shrouded in reticence in what might have been furs and leathers with long knives and a long rifle slung on him and to the right a woman with elaborately pinned hair and decorative faded grey and white robes frowned at me, radiating disapproval.

I frowned back at her and moved to the third man who was also in robes, but they were in a more simplistic style. Scholarly, almost. He had his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at me with an eyebrow raised. His expression was a front. Underneath, he was ecstatic and protective.

The last was a woman in close fitting armor underneath a cloth decorative tabard. Unlike the others, she had crouched, balanced on the balls of her feet with a bladed spear resting on the ground and against her shoulder. She had a snakelike tattoo that curled from underneath her eye and out across the jawline by her ear and wound down the side of her neck. She was familiar, like someone I had met years ago but had since forgotten and the only one I couldn't read.

No, I remembered all of them. The beacon. The figures in the shining melody.

I swallowed thickly. This was too elaborate, too strange even for the turns my life had taken lately. I remembered the designs I saw when I first touched the wraithbone at my locker. Strange wars and giant spaceships. A monster had attacked me in the space between.

"Who are you?"

That seemed to be the wrong thing to ask. More frowns appeared and some exchanged looks. The crouching woman flowed into a seated position, and settled her spear on the ground in front of her. She gestured with an open palm at the ground. I sat, not even half as gracefully as she had. Out the corner of my eye, I could see the robed woman wince and I just frowned at her again. What was her problem? I decided not to ask. If no one was going to talk, then I wasn't going to.

Spear lady offered me a hand, palm up. I raised my own, but I hesitated. Why did she want my hand? As I thought that, the corner of her mouth pulled up a little and I suddenly felt foolish. I met her palm with mine. She bumped my hand up with her fingers and slipped under to grab onto my wrist.

I felt my head open.

Images began to play like a reel. I saw the testing room on the Rig and the Number Man as he dove for a knife in his briefcase as the creature of teeth wriggled into the world. Then backwards into the space between as I ran from it towards the beacon. It relived the moment I had shoved my hands against the teeth for breathing room, shredding my fingers.

A small amount of approval came from the man with wings.

They were watching my memories! I tried to pull my hand away, but the woman had a grip of steel. No matter how much I pulled and shoved, even resorting to kicking, she held fast without a single sign of strain with that fucking smile on her face.

Said smile abruptly fell away. Confusion was pouring off the others and I looked back at the images.

They were looking at my visions of the Endbringer fights. Alexandria, Legend and Eidolon. The Protectorate. Local heroes and villains. They found the other visions, about the Three Blasphemies in Europe and Sleeper and Nilbog and the Slaughterhouse Nine. There were more threats in the world than just the Endbringers, and those I didn't need to see indirectly.

Confusion, apprehension, disbelief. Those were the dominating emotions coming from the people around me.

My memories kept scrolling backwards to my second meeting with Number Man, then my power testing and back further to my temper tantrum at the PRT. All of the flaws and asymmetry that I ignored in people seemed highlighted in my memories. It went further to the night I spent studying capes and Watchdog. The dream I had created a crack in the spear woman's armor, a whisper of grief before she sealed it up again. Further, being in a cell and watching the clip of the storm. Further to the van ride with the PRT troopers, the moment I saw myself in the mirror in the girl's bathroom, the bone of my locker. My throat tightened as I rewatched the filth in the locker get close as I was shoved in.

There was little reaction to that. No, what got a rise out of them was when my memories went over lunch period when I went to the bathroom to eat and saw myself in the mirror. Long curly brown hair, a nose that was a bit too long and a mouth that was too wide. Tall for my age with no shape to speak of and flat chested.

I've heard a lot of snide comments at Winslow. Sometimes they were just spoken a little too loudly as I passed by, making sure I heard it. Sometimes they were said to my face. I knew what scorn and disgust sounded like.

That was nothing compared to actually _feeling_ it.

The man with wings reacted badly, anger and acidic hatred poured off him as he glared at me and stomped off, as if I had tricked him. The hooded man simply turned and walked away. After a long moment as a few more of my home and school memories played, the woman in robes left as well dripping with contempt and more than a little bit of fear. My eyesight blurred and I blinked, looking down. No crying. I was sick of crying. I was not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I tried once again to pull my hand free. Still trapped.

The scholar was upset, and feeling betrayed but he stayed put. I could see the way his hands, partially hidden by his crossed arms, tightened into fists. The woman who held my hand was blank.

I watched Emma turn on me again. I watched the end of Mom's funeral and I stopped watching.

I don't know how long they took to get through the rest of it, but I knew it was over when my arm was released. I snatched it back, hot anger boiling up from the stomach.

"Fuck off," I gritted out, standing. I had a long day. Fuck, I had a long week. I was not in the mood to play games. "Who _are_ you people?"

When the woman spoke, it wasn't in words or phrases. It was music, pressing deep into my head and branding my mind. Heirs of Heaven, she said in visions of thousands of planets across hundreds of systems, an empire. Children of ruin. A spot in the galaxy exploded into a massive, twisting storm with a scream that chilled me to the bone. I could almost feel a burning, greedy grip close around something inside me.

The next word conjured images I had seen before, of warriors in bone armor fighting black skeletal machines. Fighting against ravenous insectoid creatures. I saw giant bone ships drifting through the black, starry expanse of outer space. Concepts came next. History. Mathematics. Culture. Music. Elegance. Enduring. Power.

_Eldar._


	6. Chapter 6

_**Seer**_

_**AN: Short update today**_

* * *

I was jolted out of comprehension by the scholar who spoke then. His words were just as musical but there was a tone I could hear. Suspicion. Accusation. He had shifted slightly in my direction, so I knew it was about me but it wasn't to me. Spear sat quietly under the diatribe and when it was over, her eyes lazily moved from me to him, patient. She lifted her right ring finger, and then dropped it. I could almost hear the 'you know the answer.'

Scholar snorted and then turned to me. He stared for a moment. I bit my tongue to stop myself from saying anything because the longer he stared, the sadder he got. He said a word or a short phrase, and the meaning unfolded in my head.

_Young._

"I'm fifteen," I said and flashed all ten fingers of my hands and then five. That didn't help my case. If anything, he seemed to get even more conflicted before he gave up.

Then there was one.

There was nowhere for me to go and I didn't know what to do. Was I really stuck here? In some kind of purgatory with people that hated me for being human? In answer to that, a little video of me sitting played in my head just then. I turned my head towards the woman who was still sitting and narrowed my eyes. "No thanks, I'll stand."

The next thing I knew I was flat on my ass with the back of my legs throbbing and the woman was placing her spear back on the ground. I hadn't even seen her move. I gritted my teeth. Alright fine, if that was how she wanted to play it. I gingerly pulled myself into a sitting position.

"Do that again, and I'm gone." It didn't even matter where I went, so long as it was away.

She gave me this chiding look that did nothing to soothe my irritation. I did get an impression of what she wanted though.

"Am I supposed to believe you want to help me now?" I wasn't naive enough to buy that. It would have been different if I could feel that she didn't feel like the others did. Instead, there was nothing coming from her and that just made me suspicious. She wouldn't be hiding emotions if there was nothing to hide.

The woman's mouth twitched down in a momentary frown. Her walls dropped and I was hit with a tidal wave of grief so cold I gasped. It seemed to easily dwarf every negative emotion I had ever felt. When my mom died, I spent the entire week crying. It was the only comparison point I had, and she had been weeping for years. The sheer despair and hopelessness was like barbed wire. Getting up in the morning must have been agony. I didn't know how she could even function.

"Stop," I gasped. My face was wet with sympathetic tears. "Please stop."

She closed herself off again and within moments, only the slightly sad look on her face was proof she had felt anything at all. I remembered the small amount of grief that had slipped from her when they were watching my memories. A brother. I thought about saying something, or doing something but whatever power I had that let me not act like a social outcast wasn't working here.

What was there to even say? I'm sorry? For what exactly? That she was sad? That I doubted her?

"I'm Taylor," I said lamely. After the fact, I pointed at myself feeling incredibly silly and a bit dumb for doing so. "Taylor."

Her nose crinkled. The first word she said I didn't really understand at all. It was a sense of immense scale that was strangely restricted and static. The closest analogy I could make was that she just tried to describe a telescope stuck on max zoom. The second word I knew: Vernasse.

"You – " I had already known, didn't I? She nodded, probably having guessed what I had been about to say. This woman was who I dreamed I was. I saw one of her memories. That made me feel marginally better about having my privacy violated. "What do you want from me?"

Untrained, she implanted into my mind. Dangerous. That came with the memories of my encounter with the teeth creature, and a brush of that burning greed I had felt from her speech before. Protected. Duty. A backdrop of the shining beacon in the space between.

"It's your job to help me?"

She nodded again, and then looked exasperated. She reached up with her hands and I leaned back immediately, well remembering what happened the last time she touched me. She stopped, but she didn't back off either. Instead, just looking at me like she had all the time in the world for me to get over myself. I squirmed a little inside because I had few options, but I wasn't going to just let her walk over me either.

"Tell me what you are planning to do first." She made a show of casting her eyes around, as if to emphasize that no one else was there. "Doesn't matter."

The first hint that I may have pushed too hard was when her jaw clenched a little. Then next was when she dropped her arms, picked up her spear and stood up. She bowed almost respectfully, but the slight sneer of disfavor on her face contradicted it. I snarled back. She was just like the others. I'd almost bought it. Her eyes rolled, and she started to walk away.

I watched her go, feeling the squirming in my gut get worse. I didn't want to stay here. I couldn't stay here. What was happening with my body? With the PRT, with Dad?

"Wait," I called after her. She didn't stop and I bit my lip. "Please," I whispered. That was when she stopped and turned to look at me. If she could get me out of here, then I could afford to give a little. "I'm sorry. Can you get me out of here?"

She was still, looking over me for up to half a minute before she walked back. I expected her to sit down again, but this time she kept walking past me with a beckoning motion with her spear. I got up and walked after her.

Whatever the music did, I could see people where there used to be just wisps of light. It was not a pretty sight. I could see enough to tell that they were all vaguely humanoid, albeit lacking the same kind of sharp definition and color as the five did, but they were all badly wounded. Some just had holes punched into them that was leaking white mist, missing limbs and heads. Some looked like they had huge bites taken out of them, entire torsos bitten off. All of them were ragged, faded and see through like rags washed too many times. They weren't solid and I knew why.

They were damaged.

I felt a pang. Religion had never really been a thing I concerned myself with. I hadn't been raised in a faith and after Mom died, finding one had been the last thing on my mind. Or my Dad's for that matter. That didn't seem to matter. What I was looking at was real. I remembered the vision of a bone spike erupting through someone. These were all dead people. Souls.

"What happened to them?"

My guide shook her head. She pointed at me and implanted the concept of incomprehension. I wouldn't understand. She gave me a very wan smile. Not now.

Where was I?

L_ost,_ Vernasse answered with a sense of directionless and unknowing.

"Lost where?"

_Circuit._

Did I understand that right? Circuit? It was a surprisingly technological concept, but that was what it looked like. A loop of connections.

The blind joy and hope from the damaged souls were still just as unsettling as it had been the first time. I shied away from them, careful not to touch them. I wasn't sure how I would handle causing another one to break down.

We reached the end of the clearing in the fog and I felt a hand gently rest on the top of my head. I tensed, expecting my memories to be dragged out of me again or something equally unpleasant and exposing. Nothing happened and I looked up in surprise.

_Peace._ Vernasse's wan smile faded. _Untrained_, she repeated but this time she chose to show me something else. It was a girl or young woman, human, and using powers like mine among a group of other humans fighting alien creatures. I saw the humans how I suspected Vernasse saw them, incapable of ignoring the flaws like I could. I could see just how uneven their faces were and a lot of things I wasn't interested in seeing like their pores and hair. Things I just ignored automatically. The defenders were a ragtag band using crude melee weapons and guns, so I knew they needed all of the help they could get.

But then how the girl fought changed. She howled, and I could feel the way it seemed to be made of rage and terror. I saw the effect it had on everyone else, desperation and determination shattering into fear. For a moment, a monstrous visage appeared on her face before she dove into the mob of creatures. She was stronger, performing feats only Brutes were capable of. Instead of throwing rocks with her powers, she was gripping her enemies with her bare hands and tearing it apart in a shower of dark ichor just to pounce on another. A few minutes in, and she was covered in blood.

Then one of her comrade's got too close and she turned on him like he was just another animal, tearing off his arm as the other hand opened up his rib cage.

I reeled back, nauseous with her guttural screams of '**_blood!_**' echoing in my ears.

Vernasse didn't let me go, showing me another of a smiling boy covered in oozing sores with a scabbing eight pointed star carved into his chest in the middle of a slum's street with diseased corpses all around him. The air was thick with flies. I could smell the bodies. He should have been dead with the way his skeleton showed through his skin and the way sores had eaten to the muscle in places. But he was smiling, like that was the way the world should be.

Another, a young man who seemed like he was in bliss until he just burst apart, something with a face that managed to be utterly beautiful while covered in blood and subtly wrong with giant foreleg claws crawling out of his remains.

_Untrained,_ I could almost hear Vernasse's voice. _Dangerous._

"I'm a parahuman." My voice came out weak and unsure. I remembered the creature of teeth and how it had scraped and clawed at my mind. What had happened if it had gotten in? I imagined it tearing out of my body.

_Protected. Duty_. She gave me a reassuring smile. I guess she was really saying something like, 'we're here to help.' Except the others didn't want to have anything to do with me.

Her lips pursed, and another set of images came to my mind.

Lines of soldiers in flak jackets and laser guns slaughtering a city. Huge men in power armor that had almost comical proportions didn't look the slightest bit funny when they were gunning down civilians. I saw conflicts between the 'Eldar' and humans, of the former's attempts to get the latter to cooperate and being met with steel and fire.

I wouldn't call myself a nerd. That was a distinction that belonged to people like Greg Veder at school, or the villains Uber and Leet. But even I knew about Star Wars. That saying? Billions of lives crying out in terror and were silenced? It wasn't exactly a funny subject, but they were just words. Just words.

Vernasse let me feel the presences of billions of people. It was a reflection of how I felt Earth, and it felt alive in a way I can't really put into words. I saw the planet covered in cities that looked like they housed millions of people and I saw ships in orbit. There was a single flash of light on one of the continents and then a malevolent molten glow swept over the surface. I heard those cries. I felt the terror and despair and hopelessness. And then everything went _silent._

Something in me broke.

She met my eyes as I shook in place, drowning in shock and horror.

_Humans,_ she said.

I found my voice. "We're not – " We had our villains but we had our heroes too. That didn't happen here. I refused to believe it could. I was less sure about it happening elsewhere. We knew other Earths existed thanks to the tinker Haywire a long time ago. We only reached one and these people, they had to come from somewhere. Somewhere with humans.

We had our heroes, but we also had our villains. African warlord capes. Parahuman dictators in the middle east. The Slaughterhouse Nine would do that, if they had the power. "I'm not like that. We're not all like that. We aren't."

I wasn't sure when I stopping thinking of all of this in terms of it being my power. Was it when I was trying to get back to my body? Was it when I saw that man die, and his spirit fell apart in my hands?

I wasn't sure, but I doubted now.

"I want to leave." I wanted to forget everything and be back in the PHQ where everything was simple and none of it had anything to do with aliens or alternate Earths. I didn't even know where to even begin processing all of this. What was I going to tell everyone when I got back?

Nothing, I decided. No one really needed to know right now. I could take some time to think about what to do, and how to go forward. The teeth creature hadn't shown up until after I relaxed the barriers on my mind, and it had kept it out. As long as I never did anything like that again, maybe I would be alright?

I started to feel sick.

Vernasse simply nodded as if she didn't notice how pale I'd gotten and removed her hand from the top of my head. I felt cold and numb. My head felt full. She bade me to walk through the fog barrier. I thought about telling her that there was nothing but more fog on the other side, but kept quiet. I could always turn around to complain afterwards.

I walked into the barrier, feeling the tingle and slight movement of it. I also felt the shove from behind.

I fell.

* * *

I groaned as I came to. A powerful headache was pounding at my temples. I felt like someone had stuck their fingers in my brain and had started moving stuff around. My noggin was protesting the rough treatment. I opened my eyes and found myself in some kind of medical wing on a gurney. I blinked to let my eyes adjust to the lighting and sat up. Someone thrust a paper cup of water in front of my face as they set a hand on my back to steady me.

"You gave us quite the scare," Nurse Goodness said.

I gave myself a scare. I looked around the room as I took the cup. Regular linoleum floor, regular blank wallpaper, regular fluorescent lights. It all seemed so surreal. I remembered, or thought I remembered...

_Eldar._

I could still remember the exact cadence of those musical notes. What happened to me after I touched the light was hazy, like a dream I had woken up from and was already forgetting. Except my memory was at least ten times better than it had been a month ago, hell, a week ago, so I could still recall the details. Ravenous insects devouring worlds. Black skeletal machines.

Bone ships drifting through space.

But that was _crazy._

Aliens?

Was I supposed to believe that aliens had something to do with my powers?

But I wasn't sure what else to believe. What else could explain what just happened? My recollections were still clear and vivid. The warning I got, of being untrained, was seared into my mind. I remembered their song of disgust, hatred, disappointment and...grief.

Humans, I thought. They had, or thought they had, reasons to hate...us? I stared down into my cup at the clear liquid. I could see my reflection. A thin face with green cat eyes and straight brown hair. My ears swept up the side of my head to pointed tips.

I was just making my headache worse thinking like this.

I had been in the ocean somehow, like it was an actual place that existed outside of my head. A true out-of-body experience cut short by a fucking monster. I didn't even know where to start with everything that was wrong about -

About...

"Paper," I said.

The nurse turned back around, eyebrows rising. "Excuse me?"

I downed the water in a single gulp. "I need paper, get me a notebook, notepad, something and something to write with. Pencil." I changed my mind. "Pen. Please before I _forget!_"

Everything that I saw in the shifting, hungry ocean of thoughts and emotions. About the threats around the world. About natural disasters. About the _Endbringers._

Nurse Goodness didn't ask any questions, simply hopping to it with the same urgency that drove me. It was too important to lose. Too important not to record for everyone else to see. I could deal with everything else on my own time, but this was why I was needed in the first place.

To see.

I ripped a pad of yellow Post-It notes off the counter and caught the pen Goodness tossed at me. I started writing then and there on the yellow squares in my hands.

"I'll get your father," I vaguely heard her say.

I kept writing.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Apprentice_**

* * *

That eventful power testing episode had been three days ago. The PHQ had recently, tentatively, opened from the shut down and the PRT was still on high alert. They had come to get him with a white unmarked van and troops wearing heavy duty body armor. They didn't really tell him much.

Taylor hadn't told him much either.

"So let me get this straight," Danny said, hand absently checking his tie. PRT troopers had been released from custody but for reasons of safety, they'd kept Taylor here. He tried not to dwell on it. "You can make some kind of wonder material, and the first thing you want to make out of it is a motorbike."

"Jetbike," his daughter corrected him with a little amused half-smile.

He narrowed his eyes, looking pointedly at the computer terminal where the schematics for several plane turbine engines were displayed. "Jetbike, sorry. Faster, I'm guessing, than a mere motorbike and infinitely more suitable for carrying the mighty Farseer around."

"That's right!" Taylor laughed, laughed like she hadn't since before her mother died and it was an infectious sound. Well, maybe he just wanted to laugh after everything that had happened. That was still happening.

Her 'Tinker lab' on the re-purposed oil rig the local Protectorate used as a headquarters was a large workshop that had been cleared out. There were shapes on the floor and walls that were brighter than the rest where old equipment had been, bolt holes still in the flooring. The storage cabinet had stayed with a wide variety of tools inside and so had the work bench with the built in computer. The back wall was completely covered in this 'wraithbone' stuff, metal racks and rods embedded in it. On the floor near the center of the room was the top half of her jetbike's case.

Didn't look much like a bike, Danny thought.

He checked how his suit jacket sat on him for the third time. He was wearing one of his best ones, freshly dry cleaned and starched with the inner jacket he had always thought too formal for anything. He had the cuff links, combed his hair and wrote down speaking points on index cards. You could never be too formal when you're dealing with the Federal Government, Danny figured. Especially not when it was trying to take his daughter from him.

He wasn't stupid. No one went this far out of their way, pulled this many strings, was this invested in just any parahuman. You only get one chance to make a first impression, after all and he knew he was going to need all the help he could get.

"Armsmaster is helping me with it," Taylor said, gesturing at the computer. It didn't have a proper keyboard but plastic surface with a stylus for drawing. Right now, it was lit up with keys but he'd seen her draw in a few pieces in an Auto CAD like program with a surety that surprised him. "Getting a lot of the parts I need machined and some design issues. He even put me in touch with Kid Win! You know, his hover board?"

Jetbike, right. For some reason, having confirmation that it was going to fly wasn't making him feel any better about it.

"This can't wait until you're eighteen?"

Taylor gave him an even stare. "I can start applying for a youth driver's license tomorrow, if you want."

She had him there.

"Besides, it's not the first thing I'm going to finish." She swiped at the computer screen for a few seconds, and pulled up what looked a lot like a costume. There was close-fitting white power armor with measurements marked on it underneath a red and black fabric design. She had several variations, some with an ouroboros pattern and others with an all seeing eye. The head was uncovered with a little notation next to it asking: 'Helmet? Can't think of anything that doesn't look stupid.'

"I can't take – " Taylor paused, head tilting slightly as she thought. "Well, _maybe_ I can take a bullet or two, but I really wouldn't want to try it."

"You _think_?"

"_So_," she stressed. "Wraithbone armor. If I don't see it coming, or I'm not fast enough, then it can take a lot of punishment for me and I don't have to spend a lot of time fixing it up afterwards."

The almost casual reference to her precognition was never something he would get used to. Nor was the assumption that she'd be in danger.

"I thought the PR department was going to handle your costume?"

Taylor crossed her arms, looking mutinous. She seemed more open now, to him. Easier to read which gave him a bit more confidence in dealing with her. Not that much more confidence, sometimes he felt like her mood changed on a dime. Teenagers. "Sure, until I saw what they were going to put me in."

He made an exaggerated wince. "That bad?"

She sighed. "Tights, tunics and a bow." Danny snorted, and quickly tried to turn it into a cough. His daughter glared at him. "_Green. Pointy shoes_."

He lost the battle, chuckling openly now. "Should have seen that coming."

Taylor smirked a little. "I did. The actual appointment is tomorrow, I needed to have alternatives ready."

She knew she shouldn't – He swallowed the flare of anger. That wouldn't help, it never did. He reached out and put a hand on her head. For a moment, Taylor just froze, staring at him blankly until she seemed to come back to herself. He bit his tongue lightly. Asking if she was alright wasn't going to get him a straight answer. After three days of trying and getting stonewalled, he'd learned to just let it be. Was it because of the attack, or something her power was doing to her? It could be both. He hated this. Feeling helpless.

And he was too tired to push.

"You know you're restricted for a reason," Danny said instead. That persistent little headache was coming back. Guess the medication must be wearing off. "You need to be more careful."

Her eyes dropped, chastised. "I know, curiosity got the better of me."

Before he could respond, his phone vibrated. Danny cringed, gingerly taking out his PRT-issue cellphone and held it like it was dripping with acid. Maybe that wasn't very fair of him, but he turned it completely off and tossed it out of reach in the backseat for good measure every time he got in the car. He turned off the alarm.

"Got to go?"

"Yeah," he said. Time to stare down some government bigwigs. "Wish me luck."

"Will it help?" Taylor said, just a bit knowing and that stung. The days when his little girl believed her Dad could do anything were long gone, it seemed. He couldn't blame her for growing up too fast for him. Time flies when you aren't paying attention.

Danny smiled weakly. "Probably not."

* * *

The only thing Director Emily Piggot wanted right now was to curl up in bed with a stiff drink and forget Taylor Hebert even existed.

Paperwork? She didn't have enough paperwork. She could always use more. Here, have an explosive public trigger event. Deal with that for a week and when it was all over, stamp a few forms, have a few meetings and then it would be business as normal. Normal with twice the paperwork, because the girl was literally a walking liability problem with pointy ears. A problem with global range which meant it fell to the PRT to make sure that problem was firmly theirs to deal with and no one else's.

Too late, have an assassination attempt by an unknown long range Master within the PHQ. She had to escalate the situation. Problem was, there weren't too many levels left for Taylor Hebert's file to escalate to. Andrew Richards of the WEDGDG Department was being a pain in the ass, other PRT branches were eyeing her pseudo-Ward, she got a call from the goddamn _Senator_ and her back was killing her.

And did she mention more paperwork?

Because what she really meant was _all_ of the paperwork.

The elevator chimed. Danny Hebert got in dressed up in a sharp charcoal grey three-piece suit.

"Director."

"Mr. Hebert."

I hate your kid, she thought.

They went up two more floors in silence. She got out of the elevator first, absently sipping at her coffee, straight black, as she extended her security pass from her retractable badge holder. After swiping, the door beeped and unlocked. She let them in, turning on the lights and picking a chair. This was the same room one fifteen-year-old girl had been in after plucking information from Costa-Brown's head. She couldn't help wondering what exactly they had talked about.

"Your input is valuable and will be taken into consideration, Mr. Hebert."

The man gave her a wry smile. No doubt thinking something along the lines of 'Taken into consideration, for about five seconds.' Call her jaded, but she couldn't say he would be wrong.

"Thank you for the sentiment, Director."

Emily nodded. "Least I could do."

She woke her terminal and the first thing she saw was the PRT file for 'Farseer.' Then she imagined the looks on everyone else's faces as they read it. The large screen above the center of the table connected to the call and one by one the busts of some of her colleagues showed up around the edge. New York, Boston, Los Angeles, Houston, Chicago, Philadelphia, St. Louis and Seattle. Andrew Richards eventually connected, cigarette hanging from his mouth like it was a permanent fixture and he looked like something had ruined his day and then pissed in his coffee.

The PRT Director of , Pierre Minetti looked up from his terminal and pointed down. 'What the hell, Emily?' he mouthed.

Yup.

Huh. Would you look at that. She was feeling better already.

"I invited Dragon to join us because she has forwarded some information to my desk that shows Farseer's provisional Shaker rating is inaccurate," Rebecca Costa-Brown started with.

What a surprise.

"Dragon? If you would?"

"Thank you, Chief Director." Another person connected to the call with the square bust of an average looking woman of indeterminate origin appearing on screen labeled 'PRT Vancouver' as Rebecca Costa-Brown's tile shrunk down from the center to the 'PRT Los Angeles' tag at the bottom.

The center of the screen became dominated by a video of the dark storm over Brockton Bay taken from what looked like a street cam.

"We're all familiar with this event." Dragon stated. "The storm centered over Winslow High School covered the entirety of the city limits and remained for two days before dissipating. A No Fly zone was enforced above Brockton Bay following this event, however I received permissions to deploy sensors in the atmosphere to record a repeat, if there was one."

There was one.

Dragon replaced the video with a second, this time with the backdrop of the top level of Piggot's PRT building just visible at the bottom. There was a muted crack of thunder and then the sky exploded in dark roiling clouds and twisting lightning.

"Observe," Dragon said. "This is the event frame by frame."

The video replayed from the beginning greatly slowed down. At first, slightly cloudy sky and then Piggot saw the sky buckle before tearing. Beyond the hole, she thought she saw a glimpse of an alien landscape with seething clouds of its own that seemed to twist in her vision before it became obscured by dark storm clouds.

"There was a commercial plane with four hundred and twelve passengers that went missing in the first storm at roughly eighteen hundred feet." Two seats to the right of her, Piggot could see Danny Hebert's brow heavily wrinkle as he stared. "At the time, we believed it may have eventually crashed into the Atlantic. However, several of my drones have similarly vanished. Luckily, the second event only forced two planes to land with a few injuries, one death."

Director Armstrong cleared his throat. "So her power is an inverse of Labyrinth's?"

Inverse? Emily thought. Labyrinth could bring parts of other worlds into her current reality. That was just an open rift waiting to gobble up anything unlucky.

"Perhaps," Dragon said noncommittedly. "Of more interest is that the first storm was static."

"Implying that the second one wasn't," Emily said. "Spit it out."

"Very well. The second event only lasted twenty-three minutes, but it rapidly exceeded the range of the first one extending to hurricane size of a measured one hundred and thirteen-mile diameter within the first five minutes and approaching tropical storm size of four hundred and seven miles before dissipating. It was also noticeably _descending_."

Not like Labyrinth. Worse. Much worse.

"Extrapolating from the rate of expansion and Farseer's observed strain," which is to say, none at all, "I theorized that it's possible another two-day storm with her conscious control could easily bury the eastern seaboard. If not more."

"Dear Lord," West muttered.

And the only thing that might have saved them all was that the girl's trigger event had given her _brain damage_. Emily met Minetti's eyes again and smiled. The man looked ashen.

"I think it's safe to assume that a 'nine' for Shaker is probably not high enough," Costa-Brown deadpanned.

"The storm was rated a six independently," Wilkins of New York said, looking like he'd swallowed something sour.

"It was big," Costa-Brown shrugged. "But ultimately didn't do too much damage for what it seemed. In other news," the Chief Director smiled a smile that screamed schadenfreude. "Her Thinker rating is also getting a revision upwards."

There were groans. Some good natured, some dreading.

The storm on the screen was replaced with a much friendlier video of Taylor Hebert in a room, scribbling furiously in a notebook. Yellow Post It notes were plastered all over her work space as were several discarded pens.

"Can you tell us anything else about who attacked you?" Dragon's voice came over the speakers with a note of exercised patience. "Taylor, are you even listening?"

"Shut up," the girl answered waspishly. She looked up with a mortally offended expression as she held up her notebook. "The Sleeper is going to move in two months. The Slaughterhouse Nine are going to depopulate some country village I'm trying to pinpoint and in two years, the Three Blasphemies are going to kill the king and queen of the Netherlands. _Do you understand_?"

Without waiting for an answer, she set her notebook down gently and went back to writing.

Piggot's grip on her coffee cup tightened. Taylor Hebert lived up to her chosen cape name; able to see scattered events with unprecedented detail up to fifteen years into the future with one event Taylor had marked down as being beyond that and only 'probable.' It was a wealth of information, and somewhere in that pile of gold was a treasure someone had tried to kill her for.

How they had known, who they were, even where exactly they were was unknown. Their only lead was Taylor's own testimony that she had been observing the eastern hemisphere around the Russo-China area.

"Analysts are going over the notebook now," Costa-Brown said. "We've already begun passing verified information to other federal departments such as FEMA, the CIA and Homeland Security. This is why I wanted her in Watchdog, Richards."

Andrew Richards blew tobacco smoke from his nose with a lop sided smile. "That's a lot of words for an I told you so."

"What is the new rating?" Minetti cut in.

"Thinker eleven."

Armstrong blinked, letting out a startled chuckle. "We actually assign elevens?"

West let out a suspicious sounding cough even as Costa-Brown laughed.

"Yes, we do."

"Could have fooled me."

"What stopped Farseer from getting a twelve?" Piggot had to ask. Global range, over a decade range on precognition with clarity, post-cognition, the whole nine yards. All things considered, it was a strange decision. Conservative, but not so much that it actually made a difference to anyone with any sense at all.

Rebecca Costa-Brown didn't immediately answer.

"Scale breaker," Richards commented with another puff of smoke. "We sit her down, tell her to go wild. What will we get?"

"At the time of testing, Farseer precognition only saw into the immediate future," Costa-Brown said, gesturing downwards towards her terminal and the open PRT file. "The specialist testing was focused on her demonstrated post-cognition. That notebook is the result of an unfocused whim, in the time span of a few minutes. She has also developed extremely precise cold reading capabilities and her ability to feel emotions covers every living person on this planet. If we had to give her an accurate Thinker rating…"

Above a twelve, entering that nebulous realm where theoretical crossed with the practical and a total population size of one: the Sleeper.

"Is she a Trump?" Deputy Director Grassland asked, filling in for Houston's Director Rodriguez. "From all accounts she seems to be gaining abilities as time goes on."

"That is the official stance."

Dragon obligingly showed clips from the power testing session in the PHQ. Telekinesis that bled into a Blaster power of sheer force, lightning generation. Her 'wraithbone' had made the rounds with the tech staff and was suspected to have more of a power interaction than just her ability to shape it. In other words, at this point no one cared if she was actually a Trump or a grab bag who managed to grab _all_ the Thinker powers and then went back for seconds in ridiculous.

"I've gotten recommendations to officially label Farseer as a Shaker Trump combo in order to downplay the rest of her abilities." That wasn't much of a downplay, but it might keep the lid on things for a bit longer. It was the world they lived in where the ability to shut down national airspace was considered 'downplaying' to a fuck off strong Thinker rating. Costa-Brown laced her hands together. "The real question is, we've got a Thinker eleven with strong combat capabilities and several Protectorate teams without strategic Thinkers." She gave them all a significant look. "How do we use her?"

As the discussion started in earnest, Emily Piggot glanced over at Danny Hebert.

He was clutching index cards between his hands beneath the table. Shoulders slumped and pale, looking down at the PRT file on the terminal.

"Perhaps we should consider that Brockton Bay is the girl's hometown," Piggot said over the others.

"Sure," Richards replied. "Except you've got some kind of whack job Master that already knows where she is." Danny's mouth opened, then closed with a troubled frown. "Treat it like Witness Protection, she knows something that's inviting lethal force."

"If you move her around and she's involved, won't that advertise you've got a new strong Thinker?" Danny found his voice. It was still hesitant.

"Watchdog requires its specialists to be available for emergency situations, Mr. Hebert." Richards said flatly. "At the very least, you're looking at relocation to Los Angeles unless you choose to withdraw her application." The man smirked nastily. "At which point, I'd have to requisition her from the Wards as an asset to _national security._"

Danny gritted his teeth, face shifting from pale to red unevenly creating blotches.

"Perhaps we can come to a compromise," Costa-Brown tried.

"Economic crashes don't compromise. Natural disasters don't compromise. Parahuman assassins really don't compromise – "

"She's still a child, Richards," West said.

"She's my child, to be exact," Danny snapped.

And here we go...

Give a room of investors a golden goose and watch them go at it. She should have seen this coming. Emily Piggot rolled her eyes and settled back in her chair, kicking off her shoes and took a bigger sip of her coffee. She scrolled through the PRT file, looking for any addendums and changes as the discussion derailed.

Well, her morning was shot. She checked to see if anyone was paying attention, and promptly went web surfing.

Director Emily Piggot of East-North-East was a lot of things, but she knew how to pick her battles.

* * *

_"Everyone sees what you appear to be, few really know what you are."_

The Prince, by Niccolo Machiavelli and a book Rebecca Costa-Brown had never really liked, but she couldn't help thinking about it as she took a small drink of water. It was a very delicate game she was playing, but it was a game she knew well. Compared to DC, her office in LA was more 'gently used.' The chair was new, she noted. The leather squeaked harshly as she moved. Most of her personal effects were still in Washington, and she'd never made a habit of carting such things back and forth. The office was shaped more like a box than she would like and it was to the immediate left of a very short hallway that she also didn't like. She didn't like the angle the sun came in through the window and she knew that was petty.

This office was where she had been caught completely flatfooted and unprepared to guard her most closely held secrets from a fifteen year old girl.

She felt vulnerable in this office.

Rebecca called a small break for everyone to empty bladders and refill coffee. No one objected. The directors still online tirelessly sniped at each other on the call with little borderline personal jabs about the latest news in their respective cities. She excused herself citing a run down to the snack bar, muted her microphone and alt-tabbed, knowing that her tile on screen would go blank so no one would assume she was still there.

She made another call on a very private line. She waited a moment for the warning chime to play before speaking. "Alexandria, you have a personal interest in Farseer as an A-Class, potential S-Class parahuman without an Endbringer blind spot. You would like to meet her in person, deadline next two weeks."

The reply came in the familiar soft but clipped tones she herself frequently adopted for official business. It masked the peculiarities of her voice. "Understood, and thank you. I will make the arrangements."

To the public, Alexandria was a nigh-invincible heroine that served as the head of the Los Angeles Protectorate. She was the eponymous Alexandria package, known for being unstoppable. The truth was significantly more complicated.

'Alexandria' had to be in two places at once.

"Any developments?"

Alexandria hummed for a moment. "None worthy of note."

"Keep up the good work then." And she did do good work, had been for the past seventeen years. Rebecca hung up and then made that snack run.

When she came back, West was just settling into her seat as the last of the directors to reconvene and Danny Hebert was turned completely around in his chair, talking to his daughter. In spite of herself, Rebecca felt her eyebrows creep upward as she spared a look towards the PRT ENE tile.

Emily Piggot stared back innocently.

As the meeting had been on hold, technically speaking Farseer as a PRT employee would be allowed access to the room, especially as her father was there. The problem would be removing her.

"Chief Director, might I request that Farseer attends the remainder of the meeting?" Dragon asked. "This does involve her, after all."

Right on cue, she thought. They had just gone over, extensively and exhaustively, the amount of ways Farseer would be an asset to any PRT branch she ended up in. And she was an asset, in more ways than they knew. Now that she was in plain sight of the directors, the obvious question would begin to crop up in their minds.

'Why not have her choose?'

"Of course." Rebecca smiled with a warmth she didn't feel. Every PRT department head attended this meeting. If Taylor Hebert wanted to, she could destroy her career with a few carefully chosen words. She wouldn't, but the possibility remained to make her uneasy. "We've covered most of the discussion points already. I don't see any harm in it."

The answer was, because she was a child that had just come into her powers. There was a tendency to assume that answers derived from Thinker powers were _correct_ answers. It was a reasonable assumption, much in the same way people would assume that someone with a high IQ or had significant academic achievements were right and those less intelligent were then wrong.

She could only wish things were that simple.

Thinkers commonly bought into their own hubris. That could not be allowed to happen with this one. More than anything else, Taylor Hebert needed to grow as a person, a hero that would be the world's Atlas for when the sky began to collapse. Cauldron knew she had the potential.

When she wanted to be, Contessa was an excellent judge of character.

"Farseer." Taylor looked up at the screen, seemingly a bit curious. Rebecca carefully kept her face clear of involuntary expressions. "Would you like to sit in on this?"

The girl took a moment. Her eyes traveled in a vague circular pattern around the screen, looking at every face and reading their titles. A few Directors shifted uneasily as the green eyes landed on them calmly. When she came back to Rebecca, her face seemed a bit chagrined.

"If I may ask three questions before I leave?"

That was a very specific number. For no particular reason she could put a finger on, Rebecca found herself a bit apprehensive about what exactly those questions were. Internally, she crossed her fingers and hoped that it wouldn't end up being too incriminating. "Go ahead."

The girl nodded. "Is my Thinker rating final?"

Internal sigh of relief. "Not yet."

She flashed a small contented smile and turned her eyes away. "Mr. Richards, am I correct in assuming you are in the WEDGDG headquarters in Los Angeles right now?"

"Mhm." Then the man choked on cigarette smoke, nearly falling off his chair hacking up a lung as his eyes went wide and scared. He pounded on the desk, struggling to get back some air as the Directors almost as one paused for those few crucial seconds. Was he genuinely choking on smoke or were they watching Farseer attack him? If she was, what should they do? Richards made one last gasp and a few light coughs before rattling, "What the fuck?"

"Explain!" Rebecca cracked her voice like a whip.

Farseer seemed completely at ease. "If I have a point of reference, I can thought-talk to people. My range is restricted, too far and the message gets garbled." She turned her head slightly and West paled, mouth half-open. "Seattle." She then frowned at Dragon's tile. "Can't find you, for some reason."

Dragon's avatar adopted a slightly puzzled expression. "That's a bit odd. Might it have something to do with being a Noctis cape?"

Farseer frowned harder. She didn't quite believe that. "Maybe."

Rebecca had the sudden urge to rub at her temples. There went an entire two-hour discussion made completely irrelevant by the reveal of yet another ability, one that had next to no precedent. It was no wonder Richards had reacted badly. There was only one other being on the planet that could project sound into thoughts. Farseer made it sound almost harmless. Thought-talking? Really?

She made the mental note to shove the girl right back into the hands of the experts and tell them not to let her go until she had squealed every last power she had. "Farseer?"

"Yes?" The child looked at her tile expectantly.

The Chief Director almost chuckled as she realized; that made three questions. "Stop it."

Taylor smiled.

* * *

"Did you know about her, thought talking?" She asked Emily later after the Directors had been released back to their duties. For now, the Farseer would remain in Brockton Bay with a possibility of traveling to Boston and New York to get her used to the idea of relocating. Her little stunt had earned herself a grace period until they could figure out the limitations of that ability, what it meant for the subject of 'telepathy' in parahumans and how to keep certain unsavory comparisons out of sight.

Her trigger didn't come with any feathers, thank God for small mercies.

Director Piggot hemmed and hawed for a bit. "There was a potential mention in a report about the troopers caught up in her temper tantrum over Shadow Stalker."

"Potential mention?" Rebecca asked dryly.

"At the time, there was reasonable doubt that it was direct communication via a power and not that she simply had said it out loud. It was noted, but ultimately disregarded."

"She claimed to be capable of reading minds when she returned to the building," Rebecca gently reminded the woman and Piggot grimaced.

"Her ability to sense emotions and intent, coupled with being able to see micro expressions with a great deal of accuracy could allow for that." Rebecca simply stared at Emily until the older woman shrugged. "Believable bullshit."

"Well," she said with a wry smile. "It appears that Farseer's believable bullshit account is now in the red."

Emily just gave her a very long-suffering look that spelled quite clearly what she thought of that.

Rebecca sobered, lacing her hands together. "This is going to cause problems for us, you realize?"

Piggot nodded grimly. "That the public's fears about Maelstrom is actually justified would be bad enough, but her Thinker rating is another issue entirely."

"All the power of the Simurgh in the hands of a bullied teenager. A Carrie situation beyond our worst nightmares." Rebecca laughed mirthlessly. "Can you imagine the headlines?"

"I'm trying not to." Piggot leaned back in her chair, stonily beating down the wince of pain. "Is there any way we could keep this in house?"

"My hands are tied," Rebecca said with genuine regret and frustration. The one time that regulation worked against her had to be now. The one time.

The government had what was colloquially called the 'WMD clause,' an understandable policy that required the PRT to pass along information on any capes that had a 'reasonable' ability to overthrow the government of the United States. At the time, the Triumvirate had submitted to the registration as a show of cooperation. The nation already knew who they were, what they could do if they were pushed. It wouldn't have changed anything.

Other names were added but only a few over the years. The standards to be considered a reasonable threat to an entire country like America were high, but they were met. The Siberian was one, as her true nature was unknown to the public. Nilbog. Bonesaw. Others were simply suspected of being capable, but proof was lacking.

Panacea.

"However," Rebecca began slowly. "We do require proof of her abilities, and several of her ratings are currently being revised. I don't make a habit of sending incomplete reports."

Piggot frowned a little, recognizing the olive branch for what it was. "At least we can't be subpoenaed for it then."

She was in the unique position of being able to see both sides of the issue. Of being able to see just how much the politics and bureaucracy of the PRT, of the federal government as a whole, was like rust on the gears and how much it affected the Protectorate. At times, the system simply seized, shuddering and screaming under the burden of its own inefficiencies.

Familiarity breeds contempt, as the saying went. PRT Canada had evaded certain bureaucratic pitfalls with the help of the Guild, only to run head-long into others. It was a work in very slow progress.

"Do you think it would be possible to postpone her counseling sessions until after the hearing?" Rebecca asked. "A demonstrated inability to control her extreme emotions could hinder her case. They could paint her as being unstable."

"An extreme emotion brought on by an unexpected confrontation with her tormentor," Piggot rebutted. "A response Gallant could feel from blocks away."

"She violated the terms of her imprisonment over a high school bully."

"A bully that triggered her and was brought up on criminal charges, now and previously."

"And who is also in a medically induced coma due to Farseer's telekinetics not being Manton limited," Rebecca said softly. According to the medical report, it was as if someone had passed their hands right through Sophia Hess' skull to press on the brain. Press and tear with thousands of tiny barbs. "I will attach Dragon's investigation to her Shaker re-evaluation, but that is just a stalling action. Had she been a bit angrier for longer, it wouldn't have just been Brockton Bay. What happens if her friends are killed? Her father?"

Piggot raised an eyebrow. "As opposed to what happens if she feels like she's being made into an enemy? If she decides to be one?"

Rebecca tsked once. "She's fifteen, hardly invincible."

"She's a Thinker," Piggot said with a shark like smile. "She doesn't need to be."

Rebecca Costa-Brown knew that all too well.

"This," she said eventually with a long drawn out hiss as she cradled her head as if developing a headache. For a moment, she could almost believe she actually was. Parahuman court cases were always shitshows. There was a reason why she preferred not getting involved at all. "This is going to be troublesome."

"Yes," Piggot said without an ounce of irony or humor. "Yes, it will be."

* * *

Rebecca watched Taylor Hebert's face as she sat by her father watching a video Dragon had been trying to contain on the internet. It was one of Winslow High, looking like high schools usually did with a wide hallway filled with students and a uniform row of brightly colored lockers. The video was taken from a cellphone. Its owner was Japanese, snickering with his friends as the view panned the hallway.

Then there was thunder.

The windows all shattered as the hallway erupted in yelps as the fluorescent lightbulbs showered sparks onto the teens below. Above the mad rush and scramble, a girl screamed in desperation and pain. It echoed off the walls. The boy holding the phone said, 'Taylor' as he wildly swung his phone around.

An arm ripped through the door of one of the lockers. It was twisting, melting, covered in rotting blood as shards of bone grew outwards. There was a screech of metal as the bone burst through the top of the locker.

The boy dropped his phone.

The blood had long since drained from Danny Hebert's face and Taylor's was no better. Rebecca cleared her throat as the video ended.

"On official sites, MeTube, PHO and the like, we've managed to pull this video. However, I cannot guarantee that it's not still being shared on the web." She smiled, knowing that it likely looked tired. "I figured you deserved to know."

Taylor closed her eyes and managed a small nod. "Thanks."

"The good news is, you get to stay in Brockton Bay, for now."

Taylor nodded again, opening her eyes. "And the bad news?"

"The Department of Justice has begun investigating the downed and missing planes." Taylor seemed to stop breathing. "You haven't been federally indicted, yet. This is a unique situation due to its publicity. If it had been any easier to sweep under the rug..." But what was done was done. "The PRT has received a subpoena for all relevant information regarding your case."

"When?" She whispered.

"The hearing? The date hasn't been set yet, but we feel it safe to assume you have a month or two at the very least."

You are what they fear in parahumans, she thought. Uncontrollable, and all the more dangerous for it. The PRT had always had a certain amount of leeway in its dealings with parahumans. Too much leeway, many would say. For someone willing to cooperate, they were able to make some criminal records quietly go away. A new name, a new costume. This time, it would be anything but quiet. The nation was watching.

If there was a better stage to crucify the PRT's unilateral privileges, she didn't know of it. She could interfere. The PRT hadn't lost any official power yet. Their recommendation to simply drop it would have to be heard.

It would be a trade off. The Farseer becoming a national asset, virtually untouchable in exchange for the PRT itself getting clapped in irons. It wasn't ideal, but she was willing to do it.

She met Taylor's eyes. Do you want me to? She thought.

The girl lowered her eyes, trembling. A slight shake of the head.

"We will be doing our utmost to protect you, from anything. From anyone." She met the girl's vivid green eyes. She had to be on their side. She had to have the freedom and motivation needed to be who they needed her to be. There was very little Rebecca Costa-Brown was not willing to do to protect this child.

"Even from ourselves."


	8. Chapter 8

**_Apprentice_**

* * *

**TOP SECRET/COMINT-GAMMA/OCRON/NOFORN**

**Parahuman Task Force**

**Parahuman Report Executive Edition**

Monday, Jan 10th, 2011

* * *

The information found in this report is provided for intelligence purposes only as proprietary information. No information contained in this report, nor any information derived therefrom, may be used in any proceeding (whether criminal or civil), to include any trial, hearing, or other proceeding before any court, department, agency, regulatory body, or other authority of the United States without the advance approval of the attorney general, and/or the agency or department which originated the information contained in this report. Any reproduction, dissemination, or communication (including, but not limited to, oral briefings) of this information must be accompanied by a statement of these restrictions.

* * *

**MAELSTROM, THREAT CLASSIFICATIONS**

Subject Name: Hebert, Taylor Anne

Aliases: MAELSTROM, FARSEER, PHO User Galadriel

Date of Birth: 05/14/1996

Date of Power Onset: 01/01/2011

Alignment: PRT - WEDGDG Department

Location: Brockton Bay (PRT ENE)

Height: 5'10"

Weight: 101 lbs

Hair Color: BRN

Eye Color: GRN

Blood Type: N/A

Distinguishing Characteristic: Elongated ears, elf-like appearance

Subject FARSEER attests her core power is a 'sixth sense that maps reality.' The extent of this mapping is described to 'cover the entire planet' with an unspecified distance into space. Subject describes paranormal phenomenon not inherent to altered biology to be 'manifestations' of her extrasensory interaction with the world around her as 'positive' space objects. Evaluation procedure GLIMMERBANK has been employed. Results suggest subject's map of the world is nigh absolute, allowing her to see commonly prescient blind targets such as ENDBRINGERS. Subject claims she may overlook targets which are, for reasons unknown, 'harder' to see. As in case BOGMASTER, general power nullification may be in play, or targets possess specific abilities which counter FARSEER.

In common with subjects EIDOLON and FAERIE QUEEN, FARSEER has described her powers to occupy 'slots.' Subject describes power limitation as split into slots 'Instant' and 'Sustained.' Instant powers are described as 'simple manipulation' of extrasensory space. 'Sustained' require significant concentration to maintain. Subject attests she can employ one Sustained power and unspecified number of Instant.

Subject FARSEER as with subject EIDOLON is capable of spontaneously acquiring new powers. Powers are not Manton limited. Subject Farseer can scale strength of powers. This has a visible tell of an energy corona. Farseer is currently a prescient blind target.

For these stated reason, Subject FARSEER qualifies as TRUMP; 12.

OBSERVED POWER INTERACTIONS;

SHADOW STALKER; subject appeared capable of affecting SHADOW STALKER while in Breaker state, forced out of.

GALLANT; Emotion sensing range arbitrarily extends to include FARSEER at all times. Cannot feel additional targets at same range, subject described FARSEER as 'bright.' General range has increased. Has reported 'easier' distinguishing of emotions within previously established range. Has successfully separated concussive blasts from emotion manipulation, undergoing re-evaluation.

SUB-RATINGS;

Thinker; Rating Undetermined. No number will be assigned (see **PRT LA Incident Report** [12:49 01/05/2011]).

Shaker; Rating Undetermined. No number will be assigned (see MAELSTROM). Subject can employ force-fields and telekinesis as Instant powers. Material creation and manipulation (see WRAITHBONE).

Tinker; Rating Pending. Specialization: WRAITHBONE, Crystal Electronics

Blaster; 9. Concussive force observed to break through 6" 322 VHN Titanium Alloy. Capable of firing blasts of super-heated plasma (see **PRT ENE Base Incident Report** [16:32 01/06/2011])

Mover; 5. Subject possesses extreme reflexes, sense of balance. Joints have extended range of motion. Capable of flight; 73 MPH

Stranger; Rating Pending. Subject can employ a cognitive filter (see NICE GUY) (**PRT ENE Incident Report** [10:57 01/05/2011]

Brute;1. Subject FARSEER's blood crystallizes upon exposure to atmospheric nitrogen. Minor regeneration, adaptive biology. Altered skeleton and musculature. Altered biology deviates far from human normal. (see **PRT ENE Medical Report, PANACEA** [10:13 01/06/2011])

FARSEER **meets** the qualification as defined in 18 U.S. Code § 2332a and by law, is to be considered a threat to national security and subject to exclusive Federal jurisdiction. Usage of Farseer's abilities against the administration, military and citizenry of the United States without authorization and due cause may be acknowledged as a terrorist threat. Any such persons, including FARSEER, are subject to immediate authorization for execution.

PRT ENE Mary Kenyan

WEDGDG Dr. Michael Ruther

WEDGDG Dr. Dylan Brandough

WEDGDG Dr. Eric Rodriguez

Parahuman Task Force Chief Director

Rebecca Costa-Brown

This document is classified **TOP SECRET - US EYES ONLY CODEWORD**. Removal of this document without authorization is a federal offense.

**TOP SECRET/COMINT-GAMMA/OCRON/NOFORN**

* * *

The room was just the right size to feel claustrophobic, but maybe that was just my nerves speaking.

The custom built reclining chair from my test with Number Man had been moved here. The blond man himself was still here wearing a new red/silver shirt and tie combo behind the bulletproof glass that separated the testing room from the technicians' equipment on the other side. Dr. Michael Ruther, senior PRT parahuman expert was peering at a computer screen with him, pointing as they talked. Other nameless people, some I recognized and some I didn't, milled around in the background.

The rest of the room had been cleared out for space. Armsmaster had already claimed a corner by the door and gave me a small acknowledging nod. I nodded back.

"Nice to see you again, in better circumstances," a hero in gold and white said with a quirky smile showing through his face mask as he approached me with his hand out. I recognized his Spartan style helmet and the buckler the size of a dinner plate strapped to his left arm. Dauntless was a bit of a rising star with the ability to 'charge' items that eventually took on powers and grew in strength. If the empowerment truly didn't have a cap, he could stand toe to toe with Alexandria or Eidolon someday.

He was also not my biggest fan. His thoughts were running around in circles. He didn't like the thought of having someone in his head. He kept remembering a scream from an angel in Madison. I almost backed out of his thoughts, but at the last moment decided to stay. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"I'm not sure this is better, exactly," I said as I shook his hand. I remembered seeing his crackling white form in the sky when I had gone down to the Bay bleeding my anger out from seeing who Shadow Stalker really was.

"Well." He shrugged one shoulder. "It's not worse."

I knew why he was here. Dauntless and Armsmaster were to be my bodyguards, in case the projection 'Master' cape decided to strike again. A reasonable precaution, if that Master had ever existed in the first place.

I didn't tell anyone where the tooth monster had come from. Everyone was already so worried about what I could do on purpose, that I didn't need to add fuel to the fire by elaborating on what I did by accident. And what did I really know about what happened? Being untrained in my powers was dangerous, the...Eldar had said as much, but that explanation lacked the reason _why. _

Did my lack of experience _create _the thing? Was I my own worst enemy? Or was it just prowling the ocean in my head waiting for the moment I slipped up?

I told them I had been following the threads of Shanghai, which was true. I had been. Then I was attacked, and I had no idea why.

Also true.

I just didn't correct the conclusion they reached. What was I going to say? My Thinker powers hate me?

I sighed out loud and Dauntless huffed with a bit of amusement.

"We gotcha, kid – Farseer," he corrected himself. I had to smile a little at hearing my cape name from the mouth of another hero. Choosing a good name was a surprisingly difficult task. No one wanted to keep Maelstrom, even if just to distance myself a little from the chaos my trigger caused.

Thinking back, I'm not entirely sure why I chose Farseer. Felt right.

And wasn't taken.

"Don't worry," Dauntless said in lieu of a goodbye as he turned away.

Easier said than done.

I went to the center of the room and sat in the chair. I filtered out the dusky smell of old leather and the little squeaking noises the chair made. Director Piggot was on her cellphone by the projector screen in front of me, arguing with someone named 'Jim' while Dragon watched me from the cameras.

That last one was a guess. I have no idea where or what Dragon is doing. It was starting to creep me out. She wasn't a hole, like the Endbringers were. I was confident that she felt emotions just like any other person, but there was no evidence for that. No ripples, no threads, nothing. She just didn't exist to my powers. It put me on edge.

"Alright!" Piggot barked as she slapped her phone shut. "Let's get this show on the road, people."

The projector screen bloomed into a satellite image of North America as everyone behind the glass rushed to their stations except for one blond man in a red shirt with a silver tie. The Number Man looked up over the top of his glasses and laptop screen like he knew I saw him just then. He winked at me, then looked back down. Armsmaster and Dauntless took up sentinel positions to my left and right, far enough away not to crowd me but close enough to reach into my space. Dauntless angled himself to allow his shield a full range of motion both in front and behind me.

After a moment of hesitation, Armsmaster nudged me a bit with his hand. An almost, but not quite awkward shoulder pat. I appreciated the effort, smiling a little as I tried to relax. Armsmaster internally crowed, glad I hadn't fixated on the more popular Dauntless.

Armsmaster and Dauntless were rivals, or something. I wasn't sure what to think of that.

Dragon spoke then and I fought down the flinch of surprise. "Normally, I would strongly advise against this."

"Taking down villains?" I asked skeptically.

"Finding them," Dragon said. "Like it or not, villains wear masks for the same reason heroes do. Anonymity. Their identity as a cape is kept separate from their civilian lives. It gives them a safe place to retreat to."

"You mean it protects them from the consequences."

"It keeps them from feeling cornered," Piggot cut in. Her heels clicked on the floor loudly as she walked over to her chair by the projector screen on the wall. "Cornered criminals with powers who feel like they have nothing to lose can and will do a lot of damage, ruin a lot of lives before they are stopped."

I frowned. I could see the logic to that, but it also rubbed me the wrong way. If an unpowered guy in a ski mask held up a gas station, the police would be trying to track that person down. People like Kaiser, Hookwolf and Lung, was it really just a numbers game that let them walk around free?

"So you what, ignore them if they're not wearing a mask?"

"Take the E88," Piggot said instead. "Can you imagine what would happen to Brockton Bay if every single cape in that gang didn't have that anonymity? If Hookwolf could only be Hookwolf and no one else."

Not pretty, I imagined. Hookwolf himself was a nasty character. He was like the teeth creature, able to turn himself into nothing by blades and hooks. He was known for being vicious and bloodthirsty. Still.

"If that anonymity didn't exist, perhaps not so many people would be willing to break laws." I felt Dauntless' amusement jump at that.

"That goes both ways. I'm sure you remember New Wave."

Dauntless' amusement evaporated.

Yes, I remembered. Fleur was a member of the same New Wave family movement Amy Dallon was part of. After they unmasked themselves, Fleur was killed in her civilian identity. I'd read that E88 claimed credit for killing her murderer.

"It doesn't have to go both ways," I said. I looked to the side at Armsmaster. "Why can't just the heroes be protected?"

He grunted. "We don't have the monopoly on Thinkers, or the ability to find identities." He sighed a little before he gritted out, "Much as I wish that were not the case."

Piggot gave us all a sharp smile. "Checks and balances, the great American way."

The way she said that was loaded with an old, tired derision. She wasn't any happier about the status quo than I was, but had to deal with it.

"Then why – "

"Are you here?" Piggot nodded at the projector. "Because checks and balances only work if you _can_ check and balance. There are certain villains that don't bother with the polite fiction, because we lacked good options that would save more lives than it jeopardized. Now we have one."

I understood. "Who's the target?"

"You don't have to do this, Taylor," Dragon said. "There are other ways that aren't so high profile."

Yes, there were. Why go for the slow startup when I could start making a difference now? The Chief Director had that train of thought, and I agreed with her. I could do so much, right now. I could help. I could prove I was worth it. There was a reason she wanted me in Watchdog. Pretending I was just another teenager, or Ward wasn't going to work.

So let's go in the opposite direction.

"I know." I settled back into the chair. "Hit me."

The satellite image zoomed in on Canada until I could see the definition of cities as gray tumors on verdant green and dirt brown. The image moved around until it found one city. I could tell it was large and had grown larger recently with the way the city seemed to have two or three 'rings' of buildings. The screen split. One half settled on the view of a large white dome and leaning tower. The other showed a picture of a man with wavy dark hair and stubble grinning at the camera between two women, a blonde and brunette kissing his cheeks. Everyone's mood took a sharp downturn with anger and disgust.

"Nikos Vasil," Dragon introduced the man as water crashed against a beach from the speakers. "Also known as Heartbreaker, is active in Montreal."

Heartbreaker. An emotion manipulator that used his powers to give himself a harem of women that he used, and then threw away when he got bored of them.

"So far he has proven difficult to pin down, and always seems to know when the authorities are closing in. His," Dragon paused on the word. "Harem includes several parahumans and some of his children also possess powers. We have to assume any and all bystanders in his range will be at risk during operations, and he has turned Protectorate and PRT members before."

I stared at the image. There were trees in the background of a park. The leaves were just beginning to turn orange. The brunette woman had her eyes closed, enthusiastic as she leaned into him. The blonde had her eyes open, stare unfocused and she was slightly turned away. The tendon on her neck was a bit pronounced, mid tremble. New conquest.

It was a recent picture, taken this past fall.

I reached out into the ocean, feeling my way through. I felt through each ripple and thread, discarding the ones that didn't match what I was looking for. It didn't take long.

Found you.

I pulled, imagining I was siphoning the threads through the eye of a needle. I wanted to know where he was staying right now.

My mind was hammered with a barrage of images and sounds. I flinched back, which made Armsmaster step forward.

"Were you spotted?"

"No," I waved him off. "I just got a lot. He's in an apartment complex in the city."

No good. I knew that wasn't any good. I dove right back in, deeper, to the currents. I was vaguely aware of Dauntless and Armsmaster retreating, as if my personal space had expanded. If Heartbreaker stuck to the city, he was practically untouchable with dozens of people around him at any moment that he could turn into soldiers. If we could get the drop on him and manage to gas the place, we'd get a few. Gas doesn't travel very fast, not in an apartment building, not fast enough to guarantee it would get him. Sniper? That left all the women and children to deal with. That was if none of them were able to warn him. It would be easier if he was isolated.

I continued looking, observing every future. There were so many. I didn't have that surety I had before, when I was completely open and submerged. I just had little touches, glimpses of it. Subtle nudges of gut feelings. I wasn't doing this right. I knew I wasn't. But I couldn't risk it.

A drifting possibility flitted into my awareness. I reached out to it, and when I touched it I had to smile. This was it. I grabbed it and pulled it closer. I peeled hundreds of errant threads off of it, like I was breaking ore off a gem.

It had to go just like this.

"In six days, he will be in a suburb home in Pierrefonds-Roxboro. White brick house, two car garage, double sided white door with a small garden in the front of the turret. Rue de la Morandiere," I said out loud. After estranging a woman and her husband, making him decide to visit their grown son to give them time off. "Early morning, everyone will be there."

"Thank you," Dragon said.

I opened my eyes, not sure when I had closed them. "Don't thank me yet. He preps several safe houses at the same time. You'll have to make him choose that one." I paused and shifted in my chair as I looked around. Dauntless was sitting in a chair near me as Armsmaster stubbornly stayed standing. Piggot was nearly sprawled out in her chair and several technicians were missing. Number Man had gotten a coffee and donut from somewhere.

"…How long did that take?"

Piggot checked her watch. "About an hour and a half."

"Damn," I said. "I could do it faster if I wasn't worried about...you know."

"Noted," she said dryly.

It didn't feel lie it had taken that much time. Still strategically useful, but I could read in the Director's head that she wished it didn't take me so long. Aside from just having faster reaction speeds, my precog would be useless in a fight. I'd have to be constantly looking forward beforehand and I didn't think I could monopolize heroes like Dauntless and Armsmaster for unimportant things. Then I asked, "PRT Canada already wants to launch a raid on Heartbreaker, how can I help?"

"We," Piggot began, waving a finger around in the air to encompass the 'we.' Or maybe the finger was pointing upwards because of what happened last time my emotions got the better of me. Either or, really. "Don't want you anywhere near Heartbreaker. Thank you, but no."

Dragon agreed. "You've done a lot for us already."

Double damn.

No, this wasn't the end of the path. I could still work with this.

I settled back into the chair. "I can at least give you the rest of the details. Five of his children have Master powers." One of them was here, in Brockton Bay. I looked to see if his father sent him, but it didn't seem like it. I'll bring it up with Piggot later. "Two boys, two girls are on site. The eldest boy can touch someone, and sense what they will do for up to three hours. You know about the second, fear inducer. Eldest girl is an emotion manipulator like her father…"

Hours later I was finally done. All of Heartbreaker's safe houses, all of his 'family' and all of his victims including current PRT members. The guy had made a field trip to kidnap an actress in Vancouver, but apparently he could do subtle if he felt like it. He had long term plants in stores, in hospitals, in schools. Well, to be more accurate, he had some plants. His daughter, Cherie Vasil, had more.

I told them all of the ways the raid could go wrong if I wasn't there helping to oversee the operation. There were paths where they pulled it off perfectly without me, but those were fewer. Did those even count? That would just be leaving it all up to random chance that events would play out that way without anything guiding it. I saw how I could help, if they allowed me to.

That was a big if, right now.

"You helped take down Heartbreaker?" Kid Win said with more than a little disbelief as he leaned in to his camera, his red and gold helmet getting big on my computer screen.

"He's not down yet." I shook my head as I etched more lines into the crystal I was holding. Bits and pieces of shaped wraithbone littered my workbench. "They have to actually go after him first." And I had to pass Piggot's Trial by Gallant with flying colors before she would even consider petitioning WEDGDG and the Chief Director for permission for Farseer to assist. There were a lot of paths that said 'no.'

But not all of them.

"But still," Kid Win said. "Where do I sign up for Watchdog?"

His name was Chris. Under his gold and red armor, he had brown hair that tended to stick up with helmet hair and brown eyes. He went to Arcadia High and had math homework he really should have been doing, but that was low on his priority list. Maelstrom was a Tinker, and Armsmaster had asked him to help her out. He just couldn't screw _this_ up.

I didn't look too deep. Just enough to confirm for myself that he wasn't another Sophia. He was too earnest for that, I thought. Too concerned with putting his best foot forward for the new Tinker. He was also happy that I was having trouble figuring my stuff out, but not in a malicious way. He had dozens of unfinished projects and his own heap of frustrations with his inventions. He had started to think that he was holding himself back.

"Tell you what, get a few Thinker powers and build something that will solve world hunger and I'll put in a good word for you," I said with a cheeky grin.

I knew he rolled his eyes. "Hardy har har. I'll be lucky to build a working cannon."

My stomach twinged, smothering my laugh.

Kid Win noticed, frowning a little. "You okay?"

"I – " Another twinge. I set the crystal circuit board down and closed my eyes, hanging my head in abject despair as I realized what it meant. After four days, it had finally happened. "…I need to go to the bathroom."

"Oh," he said. Then he got it. "OH."

"Yeah."

"I'll just…wait then?"

"Okay."

Fuck.

* * *

_**Apprentice**_

* * *

Danny stopped by the front door for a moment. It was open, with just the storm door providing protection from the cold of early January. The foyer light was on and outside, Taylor sat on the front step with earbuds hanging around her neck and a small sheet of crystal in her hands. If he strained his ears, he could hear the very, very soft cries of seagulls from the CD player he'd bought her. He'd opted out of the headphones for certain pointy reasons, but he had hoped the buds would work out better.

"They will," Taylor said out of the blue. "I just need to break them in first." She turned just enough to give him a small smile. "Bit of an uncomfortable fit right now."

Right. The mind reading thing. Caught, Danny just shrugged, grabbed his coat from the closet and joined her outside.

"Decided to get closer to nature?" he asked. Damn, it was cold. The wind was cutting right through his pants with a certain kind of viciousness that made his knees ache as he sat heavily. Taylor didn't seem to notice the temperature, still in jeans and a long sleeve shirt with no shoes on. She had her floppy slippers, one tucked underneath her on the step below while the other hung on for dear life from her toes. The crystal in her hands was making slight cracking sounds, as if he was hearing cracks spread through ice.

"Nice night out," he moved on, trying to keep the silence from getting awkward.

The glacial cracking stopped as Taylor sighed. "It really isn't." Internally, Danny was already cringing. "How many cases of violence do you think are happening right now in just Brockton Bay? Muggings, beatings for being the wrong race, wrong gender, wrong religion. Domestic abuse, robberies." She sighed again, eyes stubbornly fixed on her crystal. "How many around the world?"

Danny could guess what had brought this on. "Heartbreaker."

Taylor looked up momentarily, as if surprised by his insight, but then she lowered her eyes again. "Dragon should be leading the preliminary assault on him in a few minutes."

"_Should_ be?" It was such a small thing, a simple substitution that turned what would have otherwise been an assertive statement into something more suggesting, a bit vague. He wished he could say for sure that it was a new thing with his daughter, but they didn't really talk much before everything.

I married the English professor, remember, he thought. Those word plays don't work on me.

Taylor let out a small, amused huff and it got her to look at him, really look at him so he counted it as a win. "I can't see Dragon directly," she admitted. "But I'm watching, everything up there. I have to, if something goes wrong." She gave a half-hearted shrug. "Heartbreaker isn't Montreal's only villain, they have their own troupe up there."

"So do we," Danny said. He kicked his shoe into the sidewalk a bit.

"So does everybody." Taylor set her crystal aside and drew up her legs to rest her chin on her knees. "I can see it. I can feel it. Doesn't that mean I should fix it?"

Did it? Part of him said no. She was fifteen, for crying out loud. The world shouldn't be on anyone's shoulders. It was too big. It would crush them. He didn't want that happening to his daughter. The rest of him? The rest of him was thinking, well, that's what heroes do. The powered ones just held up a bit more of the sky than the normal people, but that didn't mean they did it alone.

He was not the most unbiased source. Union rep in a crime ridden city with rising unemployment, smart money would have had him move years ago. This was his city though. These were his boys struggling to find jobs. It was more than a paycheck to him and that part was just starting to warm up to the idea that Taylor had learned that from her old man.

Heaven knows, he hadn't been much good for anything else.

"So what are you thinking?" Danny said eventually. "Start here, close to home? It's, it's more than just roughing up a few criminals, you know."

The PRT and Protectorate were like secondary police departments. You don't go to the police for societal changes, just to get someone arrested. Taylor was smart no - well, he always thought she was smart, but superhumanly smart now. She'd figure something out.

"Easiest solution is to find a way to bring shipping back," she said. "Easier said than done. I don't have anything that could bring down Leviathan. What could I do that Eidolon can't?"

He just about choked on air. "Setting the bar a bit high there, don't you think?"

"With powers as strong as mine?" Taylor shrugged. "I don't think that bar's coming down anytime soon. You know how strong just my storms are."

...yeah. Danny kicked at the sidewalk again. He'd been trying hard not to think of, many things. He was still in danger of losing his daughter to the government. It was one thing hearing that she was 'strong' when he had first signed the paperwork. It was quite another to be at the bank, depositing Watchdog's 'advance' into her trust fund because minors couldn't be seen cashing in on intel bounties. It was another to hear _Dragon_ calmly laying out the facts, that his daughter could create hurricanes in a fit of pique and bury the East Coast if she really wanted to. It was another to see the Protectorate headquarters go into lockdown after the force field around it failed in a flash of light and see the hole Taylor had bored through the walls with lightning.

He didn't want to think about it, so he didn't.

"The gangs won't just get up and leave if the city gets more money either," she continued. "Piggot won't go for it, not right now. But after, Heartbreaker? If I can pull it off, then that opens a lot of doors." She took a breath. "That still leaves everywhere else."

He knew where this was going. A painful lump started to form in his throat. He opened his mouth, but found nothing to say. Nothing that would convince her. Nothing that would work, or even just make himself feel better.

"You're right, though," she allowed, turning her head towards him so that her cheek was pressed up against her knees instead. Her eyes were hard. "I can't do it alone. I'm just some, bullied girl that got lucky."

"No," jumped out of his mouth before the thought finished forming. "You're," he sighed. "You're my daughter."

Taylor smiled slightly. "And you're my dad."

They sat in a bittersweet silence. His chest was cramping. His breath came out in short puffs of white in the winter air around the lump in his throat. He just got her back, he thought. That was what it felt like. Like he finally started being a father only to find out that she didn't need him anymore.

"Now you're just being silly," Taylor said.

Danny half-coughed, half laughed. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Hm. Gotta watch that."

Another stretch of silence passed, but this one was more comfortable. His toes were starting to go numb and so were his fingers. He shifted over and tentatively hugged his daughter with one arm. Taylor let him, leaning over and he was painfully aware of the slab of crystal on the steps between them as the corner of it dug into his thigh.

"It's my job to worry about you," Danny said.

He could feel her nod into his coat. "Can you trust me that far?"

"To the other side of the world? Yeah kiddo." Danny smiled sadly. He guessed 'kiddo' didn't really fit all that well anymore. Annette beat him there too, he thought. 'Little owl' had always fit Taylor better. Maybe she had known somehow. "I think I can." He steeled himself with a deep, fortifying breath. "How can I help?"

"The dockworkers." Taylor's shoulders rose and fell. "I need to talk to them, everyone you know. Especially anyone that gets their medication through Medhall, or knows someone who works there. It'll be better coming from you."

He almost hissed out loud. She knew how he felt about any of the boys getting mixed up in cape affairs. On either side of the law. There were no safeties, no guarantees. Just the promise of violence, sooner or later. And she was asking him to -

_Trust._

Taylor said nothing, letting him work through it until he finally let out a long exhale. "Alright."

Medhall Corp, huh? One of the few large companies left in the Bay, employing several hundred people alone from their sales department to their manufacturing, delivery trucks, and security guards. The CEO was even a local. Max Anders was almost widely considered a pillar of the community. Maybe she was just going to use the company to bolster the economy.

His gut told him that wasn't it.

He looked down at Taylor, who was looking a little like the cat that ate the canary. "Do I want to know?" Her green eyes almost seemed to glitter as a soft smile turned up the corner of her lips in this knowing way. That was his answer. "Great," Danny said. "You know, there are easier ways to get a hold of laxatives."

Taylor's aura of mystique evaporated. "_Daaaad."_

"Just saying. If it's that much of a _problem,_ we can always just pay the doctor a visit. Give a few samples."

"_No." _She shook her head, pulling away with a glare and a pout she would probably fervently deny she had. "I'm _done. _I'm not dealing with that shit again." He had to say it. Danny opened his mouth, and promptly found himself gagged with her hand. _"Don't say it."_

He didn't have it in him to let out a full blown belly laugh, but a small, short chuckle he managed just fine. With a mental note to call up Kurt, and Gerry, probably Rand in the morning, he dug the crystal slab out from under his thigh. It shone in the light from the house, allowing him to see the thin, shallow grooves that covered every inch of it. It looked kind of like a circuit board.

"So what were you trying to make with this?" He asked, letting her off the hook.

"Not trying. I'm _making _on board computers for my costume and my bike."

She plucked it out of his hands as Danny's eyebrows rose. "That's a computer?"

"Kind of," she shrugged. "It computes."

"You got room in your costume for something like that?" He eyed the dimensions of the square. He couldn't say he'd seen anyone wearing a slab like that, maybe there were a few Tinkers that had computers in their power armor but that had to be integrated. From what he remembered of Taylor's costume designs, 'power armor' wasn't what came to mind. He could see it being on a bike as the dashboard, maybe?

"My back," she said. "It wouldn't be visible under the fabric, but there's room for one of these. It would take care of all the secondary systems, like force fields if I wanted to have one."

"Can't hurt." Plus, he'd rest easier knowing his daughter had the extra protection.

"Can't hurt," she agreed. Then Taylor paused, "You should go inside if you don't want frostbite."

Danny hopped up, suddenly acutely aware of how his feet felt like leaden bricks and that he was shivering.

"Going! Going." He stamped his feet on the doorstep a few times as he opened the storm door. Quite a bit of the cold had seeped into the house, but it was still noticeably warmer. "Don't stay out too late?" He didn't know why it came out as a question.

"I won't," Taylor called back, already stuffing an ear bud into a pointed ear as the soft, cracking sounds from the crystal started up again.

Danny double checked the front door, making sure he wasn't about to accidentally lock his only child outside at night, and then closed it.

* * *

Outside on the front step, I listened to my father's footsteps as he retreated into the house. The currents in the space between were always moving. Not moving with it, not as far as it wanted me to, just one step at a time was tedious almost. _Exhausting. _It had paid off, in more ways than one. The conversation had to go that way. The specifics were fuzzy. There was a half-dozen or more ways that could have gone branching off from every reply.

My Dad and I, we weren't what you would call good conversationalists. We didn't really talk just to talk. Months ago, we didn't talk at all. Our only saving grace was that when we decided that we _had _to talk, we didn't do a half-bad job at it. Mom had been the social butterfly of the family.

That talk had to happen. It _would _have happened. What was the harm in making sure it happened now, and making sure it ended well?

I felt like there was harm, for reasons I couldn't put my finger on. I hadn't hurt him, and I made sure he didn't say anything he would regret later. He got confirmation that I wasn't going to just forget about Brockton Bay, or him and let him in a little. Wasn't that what most people wanted out of heart to hearts?

I bit my lip as I snuck a glance at my crystal slab, the other way that conversation had paid off, and rearranged a few lines.

This wasn't a computer. Not really. Not the way that word meant in the way modern English used it, but technically a computer was just something that computes. A person could be a computer by that definition. So I hadn't been _lying. _

It was way bigger than the small symbolic runes I saw in my dreams, but I thought the basic principle behind them were the same.

Shortcuts.

_Safe _shortcuts.

Opening myself up to the ocean, letting down my barriers so that it could flow through me let me do things I couldn't otherwise. It had also proved itself dangerous. So what if, instead of drawing my power through myself, I drew it through something else? All I really needed was something my powers could be drawn through.

Already had it. My wraithbone.

I didn't know any of the forging techniques. I didn't know what any of the symbols from my dreams even meant. It didn't look anything like theirs. That was fine. This was mine. I held the crystal up to the light. I could see the patterns my power had worn into the material. The grooves on the surface was just part of it. The entire thing had been eaten through into thousands of tiny channels. This one was divination. Theoretically, if it worked for the short-term, then it should work for long-term. I just had to draw more through it. If I drew too much, it would just break.

Which would _suck,_ considering how much time I spent on this, but no monsters coming out of nowhere trying to eat me.

Hopefully.

Roughly three hundred miles North of Brockton Bay, Dragon suits flew in formation around an apartment complex. The roads had been blocked off subtly. One at a time, and from far beyond the range I knew Nikos Vasil's son Guillame had just then. It was late. Fewer cars traveling the streets would have been nothing to be concerned about. A lull in traffic would be ignored, right up until the tinkertech dragons dropped in, loudspeakers repeating the bland message calling for immediate surrender.

_'Warning. Resisting arrest will be met with force.'_

Heartbreaker had known he was due. The man wasn't stupid. He also thought he had more time.

He would escape. That was the plan. Push him too much now in the middle of the neighborhood, make him too desperate and things would get out of hand really quick. This wasn't for him, anyway. Cherie Vasil just needed a little push in the right direction. Enough to spark an argument about the merits of lying low.

I pulled my mind away from Montreal and cast my sight further. I had been telling the truth to my Dad. When it came to Leviathan, there was little I could do that Eidolon couldn't. Behemoth would be an even harder nut to crack, literally. I knew I couldn't hit harder than Alexandria and the Endbringer's dynakinesis made lightning less than effective.

_But the Simurgh._

I traveled all of the places she descended upon. I traced every person she touched. The fear around the angel was that it was impossible to tell; who did she twist? Who did she turn? Dauntless had worn a bomb collar on his neck, primed to blow his head off after a certain amount of time hearing her scream. And everyone was _okay with that._

That was how deep the fear ran.

This one.

A man in his mid-thirties in an opulent costume made of indigo cloth with real gold chain around his waist over a gold cloth sash and a gold necklace with a sapphire set in it. He was up late, coming back to an empty home. A hero, I saw. It ran in the family; threads ran from him to his daughter that was stationed in another part of the city. In some of his futures, he would be the first person to show Behemoth its own spine. In others, in most of them, he destroyed the city, killing millions of people including his own daughter.

I had a feeling I knew which future the Simurgh would choose.

I reached out. I held my breath, hesitating. This could go wrong. This could go very wrong. Worst case scenario, I'd end up calling the Simurgh down on my hometown. We would have some warning, I thought. At the very least, I would know what I'd done.

Best case, was that I could free people.

That would change everything. Really change it. Before I triggered, the angel had the monopoly on that knowledge. This would be more than just being able to point it out. The best those people had to hope for, was being escorted to the nearest quarantine zone. But if I could free them? No more questions, no more wondering. That would be my contribution to the world. That would be my atonement. All of the traps and bombs the Simurgh implanted? _Defused._ Wasn't that worth the risk?

I couldn't see if it was. I think that was what scared me the most.

I drew more power through the slab in my hands. I touched the thread that twisted around his futures.

And before I could second guess myself, I snapped it.

That had not gone unnoticed.

Shit.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Hubris_**

* * *

All three Endbringers moved as one.

Leviathan moved slowly at first, cutting down out of the Arctic circle. Then as if he had received some kind of signal, the hole he made in my senses abruptly stretched and an almost physical backlash lashed across my mind. I gritted my teeth through it, watching the waterborne creature just stop being a distinct hole and became more like a streak of displaced aether. A missile shot through the ocean in my head so fast it left behind a vacuum. The points of contact, the very edges. He burned through it and the ocean ignited where it touched him.

At the third pulse from Leviathan, in a southern corner of the world, the hole Behemoth made in the world contracted, becoming a pinprick. At the very next, he erupted. A black hole screamed into existence, close enough that I could feel the ocean shudder moments before the tidal wave drowned everything else out. It was an instant of silence and stillness. I was blinded, and vaguely aware of the rune in my hands burning my fingers. The moment passed, and Behemoth was still moving north as a massive, empty shape.

The Simurgh sang.

I couldn't hear her. Just the faint impression of a probing voice that radiated out from her like searching tendrils. They caressed every mind they came across. I felt an almost morbid kind of amusement. Comparatively, the few hundred thousand people in Brockton Bay were not that many. I could see more, easily. The tendrils slid right past me, not even hesitating, treating me as if I was empty space. She can't see me, I realized. Hadn't Costa-Brown been talking about glitching precognition when she brought up the image of the Simurgh? Perhaps she could see more, if she wanted to, but detail came at the expense of scope. She was searching Brockton Bay.

In the house, my Dad stopped, back straight and tense as he looked around for the sound he wasn't hearing with his ears. So were the neighbors. Lights began to turn on within homes as people woke and got out of bed.

"Taylor?" Dad called from the door.

I slowly exhaled, a half-convinced that if I made a sound, she'd know. They were looking for me. All three of them were.

"You hear that?"

I swallowed carefully. My mouth was dry. "Yeah," I whispered, not even daring to reach out for his mind. "I hear it."

The distinctive wail of the Endbringer alarms started blaring. The last of the stillness shattered as I felt the emotions of over two hundred thousand people swell in fear and panic. "No," Dad breathed and I felt him grab onto my shoulder. "We have to – "

"Wait," I said.

"Wait?" He repeated. "Taylor, this is – "

"I know exactly what this is," I cut him off again. I was lying. She might still find me. She might decide to flush me out. She might be waiting for the other two. Whatever was going to happen, would, and I was not going to sit it out in an underground bunker when I was the reason behind this in the first place. Coordinate, Search and Rescue, Fight, whatever Costa-Brown wanted me to do, even if it was just to be the bait to draw the Endbringers away from the city.

My mess, my fault.

"What is it, exactly?" Dad asked, softer.

I shook my head. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

I looked at him and when he saw the look on my face, his own shifted. I was aware that I was starting to hyperventilate. I reached for his hand on my shoulder clumsily. "I'd rather not."

"…Okay," he said eventually and gave my shoulder a little squeeze. "Okay."

A minute passed, then two. I was getting lightheaded, unable to even force myself to do more than take shallow gasps of air. My chest hurt, a cold fist was clamped around my lungs and heart. I couldn't feel my hands.

Above us, the Simurgh stopped singing. She let the very last of the ripples wash through Brockton Bay, before taking off across the Atlantic. Relief…there wasn't a word strong enough to describe what I felt just then. I sagged, sucking in air so fast I started to choke. I dropped my rune. The crystal was brittle, shattering into hundreds of tiny pieces on our sidewalk as I tried to convince my body that I wasn't dying.

"Whoa, take it easy. Just breathe." Dad rubbed my back and I hid my burned hands from him.

"I'm fine," I lied. "False alarm." The sirens petered out reluctantly, several sections of the city stopping, then starting up again. My head was still pulsing painfully and I could already feel my eyes burn with stubborn tears. I tried to blink them away. If he heard me sobbing, he would try to cheer me up, make himself useful. He'd see my hands and he would ask questions I didn't want to answer right now.

I could see that just as clearly as I could see Dad was overcompensating, making up for lost time and deathly afraid for me. Convincing him to just go away right now wasn't going to be quick or easy.

I counted out three of my heartbeats as I got my coughing under control. My voice was still rough as I asked, "Get the phone?"

"Sure," Dad jumped up, eager to do something. He turned around, and just as he registered that the phone hadn't even been ringing, Dad's PRT-issue cellphone started going off from the kitchen. He gave me a short, sideways glance, before darting into the house after it.

He came out, lips tight and eyes sharp. He handed me the phone, and I forced myself to take it as nonchalantly as possible, using his shadow to hide the burns on the underside of my fingers.

"Should have looked at the satellite images first," I said as mildly as I could manage. My voice still trembled.

To her credit, Director Piggot didn't hesitate. "Where?"

With my sixth sense, I watched the Endbringers move. Leviathan from the northeast, Behemoth from the southwest and the Simurgh cutting an almost straight line across the Atlantic Ocean. A triangle. There was a lot of land in between them, from the islands of the Philippines and Japan to Great Britain, but I felt a cold certainty that I knew where they were going.

To the man whose fate I had changed. India. New Delhi.

The Simurgh wouldn't find me there either. None of them would. So what then? Would they attack?

_Yes._

I could remember clearly the board with the newspaper clippings in the room with Number Man. Since the Simurgh, fear and terror was not their goal. Only results. The Endbringers were not human. They had no emotions. No panic, no anger, no fear here. This wasn't an emotional reaction. There had to be a purpose. The Simurgh suspected I was the cause, that was why she searched Brockton Bay first. Or…no, if she thought it was me with any certainty she would have descended, right?

No. I had reached from here to India. If she couldn't see me to make sure she neutralized the threat I posed, then all she would be doing is telling everyone that I was important enough to go after. Brockton Bay being quarantined wouldn't actually stop me from screwing up her plans.

_Quarantine._ That was it.

Behemoth had attacked Lyon, France twice. The second attack a couple of months after the Simurgh had surfaced. The only repeat on record. So far. The city of New Delhi, at least a part of it could be quarantined. That would offer no safety. Behemoth could always attack later, months, years. However long it took. And until she allowed herself to be driven away, the Simurgh could sit in the sky above the city, reaching into people's heads for as long as she needed to. To shift the pieces around. To set the game back up. The walls would go up, and the man I freed would be imprisoned.

"India, New Delhi."

I could hear the woman suck air in through her teeth because she wouldn't allow herself to sigh in relief, not yet, and could almost feel the sharp nod. "Thank you, stay available."

I didn't volunteer information. They would check it, cross reference with other Thinkers. Contact would be made with the Indian government, that then had to disseminate the warning to the correct location because the PRT didn't have a phone line to every major city on the planet. The Protectorate, the Triumvirate, the PRT would be on high alert, but standing by until they got the green light.

I was still untested. I couldn't blame them. If I told them all three Endbringers were involved, they would rush. Make mistakes. Deploy before they were ready. Against one, with advanced warning, morale would be higher than it would be if they knew Behemoth and Leviathan would be there as well.

Better this way.

I hung up and handed my father the phone. As he reached out to take it, our eyes met, and I broke my 'don't think hard at people' rule.

_I am already inside, going to bed._

The ocean felt like sandpaper against the inside of my skull. I crafted the scene, mapping out the inside of my house and seeing a phantom of myself tiredly slump up the stairs. I heard my father's footsteps follow the fiction inside, forgetting all about me out on the front porch. The light turned off and the front door closed.

Night, Dad. I thought towards him.

"Night!" He called up the stairs from the kitchen.

I clenched my hands with a soft hiss. I had just bought myself some time.

I hesitated. The memory of Vernasse's visions of warning was strong. The memory of teeth scraping the barriers of my mind was stronger. I stared down at where shards of my rune glittered in the moonlight. I didn't have my safeguard anymore. Coward, I thought. I pushed past it, and opened my mind a crack. My headache bloomed behind my eyes as I impatiently shifted through the threads of possible futures. Quarantine; that meant only the Simurgh would be visible with the other two on standby.

I discarded visions of all three tearing the Indian peninsula apart, refusing to consider it. They still left a cold pit in my stomach that grew with every bleak future I saw.

Think more, feel less.

New Delhi was farther from here than Los Angeles. I had a point of reference, but the distance…I tried anyway.

_The Simurgh is coming._

The aftershocks of Behemoth and Leviathan obliterated the message almost immediately, as if I had tossed a letter written on paper into a storm of razors. I didn't even have to really think about it to know what the problem was, it just bubbled up to the forefront of my mind.

Power. I needed more of it. I was just getting used to the idea that I was already exceptionally strong. Now I was too weak?

Compared to the Endbringers, yes. Think. Was there any way I could - ? Open myself up more, yes, but now I found myself thinking. The ocean flowed through me. The more open I was, the more that went through and the stronger my abilities were. Ocean. It was like water; how do you get more water from a faucet? Widen the pipe, or increase the pressure.

_Yes._ I knew how to do that. I'd done it before.

I dropped my barriers and reached right into that storm of razors. The whispers started. A foul smell, like carrion, wafted on the air as I began to pull on the ocean just as much as it was pushing on me. I felt that prickling, tight heat pool in my stomach before I shifted something, changed, corrected how I was doing it and the heat dispersed throughout my body, bone deep. The object in my chest began to glow. What was my limit? How much could I take?

Leviathan was already slowing down, nearing the Indian Ocean. Behemoth would get there next, unhindered by the Earth's mantle but in no rush. Simurgh had reached Germany and slowed down. Cautious.

She knew. It felt like a punch to the gut. Abruptly, I was out of air. She was a precog. She couldn't see me. She could see everyone else. She could see the future changing. Leviathan, Behemoth, would she call them? If she was pressured, if she was pushed by stiffer resistance than expected, maybe. What would push those futures out of reach?

Me. Call her back to Brockton Bay? Expose myself?

Yes. No. The Simurgh would get there last.

_Good._

I didn't bother with the words this time. In hindsight, expecting everyone to understand English was stupid of me. I used images instead. Concepts. Intent and direction. I needed a medium. Sound. The Simurgh had done it that way, I thought. I could too.

I opened my mouth, and screamed the warning across the world.

New Delhi woke.

* * *

Leviathan had always been heralded by a swift and vicious coastal storm and giant tidal waves. Between attacks, it lived in the seas. It didn't attack boats. Three or four ships total over the years since its appearance. Maybe they had strayed too close. Behemoth always came in the wake of earthquakes, sometimes the aftershocks gave him away hours in advance. Funny, when Behemoth retreated back under the earth, there had never been so much as a single tremor in his wake.

_"I've read those reports. What stands out to you?" _My memory recalled the sound of The Number Man's voice.

The theatrics, I remembered. The Simurgh wasn't like them. She was always present, visible if you knew where to look. Always watching. And yet, her arrival had always been silent. The eyes of nations on her, but when she descended from heaven, it was always sudden and unexpected.

Not this time.

The emotions of over twenty one million people in New Delhi froze with incomprehension. I could feel them take a breath as my warning sunk in. Realization dawned. Like a warm updraft creates a haze on the road, I felt the ocean's shifting immaterial currents swell with raw fear and panic.

Behemoth turned, and I knew he was trying to orient on the path my cry had cut across the world. I couldn't help smiling a little as their own chaotic currents finished washing it away. A glimpse of a general direction, that was all they had. A little knot of tension in my shoulders eased. If the Simurgh couldn't even find me, despite being right on top of my city, then I had nothing to worry about.

I reached for New Delhi's futures. Did they have time? To evacuate, mount an organized defense? Would the call go out in time? Would the Protectorate be there soon enough to make a difference, stop the city from being quarantined?

The future shifted through my grasp like grains of sand from an hourglass.

_No._

I had to buy them that time. I couldn't slow the Simurgh down, but perhaps I could occupy her attention? With something, or – or someone. I widened the pipe, increased the pressure and an acidic taste scorched the back of my throat as I searched America for one man. I had to talk to him directly. Sending a message to his general area would fracture the futures, introduce too many variables as other people overheard what I intended for him alone.

Austin, Texas. I grabbed at the shifting ocean and twisted, bringing up an image in my mind's eye. He was pacing, impatient and barely restrained. I brushed the ripples emanating from him and found self-loathing, fear, desperation and determination so intertwined that they were almost indistinguishable. Other heroes and two villains were in the room with him. The room stunk with tension as they all waited.

_"It is only the man in green. It's always him. He is at the epicenter."_

_"Of the fight?"_

_"Of everything."_

I reached, and dipped underneath into his thoughts.

_Eidolon_, I called.

He stopped pacing. "What the – "

I chose a future to show him. Not one with all three Endbringers attacking, that would make him too fearful and desperate to be useful. I didn't have to show him all of it, I realized. He's been there before, with other cities. He already knows. I pushed the vision of the Simurgh descending on New Delhi, sightless eyes wide as she screamed, from my mind to his.

I felt him recoil. _Help them, _I pleaded_. Please!_

"Who is this?" He demanded. The rest of the room began to pay attention.

_Farseer._

"How far out?" He'd heard just enough about me. He didn't dismiss me. He didn't ask if I was sure. That gave me an implied legitimacy. People respected Eidolon. If I approached them all at once, on equal footing? They might have asked questions. I wasn't in the Protectorate. Everyone who didn't know my power saw Endbringers, or how old I was. We couldn't get caught up in that.

Futures solidified, became closer to being real.

I broadened the scope a little, enough to include everyone in the room, anticipating a certain question. _At her current travel speed, she'll be over New Delhi in an hour, maybe two at most._

Eidolon nodded out of habit. His mask covered his cringe. He looked over to his left, at a man in black and purple body armor. "Everyone heard that?"

They did. No time wasted re-explaining things.

Eidolon's personal future altered. Discarded some powers, grabbed others. Mass long range teleportation. Vector analysis. Biological tissue reset, interval every three seconds. "We're going."

I chose a location. It was a large parking lot. The building it was in front of was unimportant, some store or warehouse. What mattered was that if Eidolon and the others teleported in there, they would intercept the man that started this as he ran towards the center of the city.

At any other time, I would have said putting someone you want to protect right next to the front line was stupid. Any other time, it would be. The Simurgh was a manipulator. Divide and conquer. I was counting on it.

I watched the room huddle close to the man in green. He was in the center. I felt an echo of amusement at that. I wasn't sure why. This wasn't exactly a laughing matter. Eidolon looked up and to the east then. I could see the trip. He would take them to Mumbai first as he had already been there. Get a map or image of New Delhi to use for the second leg.

I touched his mind and gave him the location moments before he activated the teleport. The group appeared in a parking lot and the Simurgh stopped. I shifted my vision. It was almost a mirror of the picture the Chief Director had showed me that first night. A porcelain angel against a backdrop of green and brown landscape that was dotted with the grey tumors of cities. I didn't recognize the landmass. I dove down to the people, increasing my draw on the ocean at the same time. At some point, it had stopped feeling like it was flowing sluggishly, and started feeling more natural. I barely noticed it anymore.

I swept through dozens of minds before I found one. Young man, late twenties on his laptop in bed. I barreled into his thoughts.

_What is the name of your country in English?_

He jumped near clear off the bed. His laptop crashed to the floor, sending his sleepy cat bolting from the room. Whatever, got what I wanted. Croatia.

_Thank you._ And then, feeling bad about the laptop, I paused. _Tell your mother to go to the doctor. Her cancer can still be treated._

The future shifted. Some of them were favorable, some of them very much not. New Dehli became less certain. The threads were changing, fast. I imagined they were changing just as fast as the Simurgh was calculating. Sisak, Croatia. Debrecen, Hungary. Podgorica, Montenegro. Bari, Italy. Graz, Austria.

My window of opportunity was shrinking alarmingly fast.

No, you don't, I thought. I didn't have time to sift through my best options. If one man, one bomb had been enough for the alien intelligence in the Endbringer to move, then what would make it not stop?

Deliberately, I found another Simurgh victim in New Delhi, one of four others and cut their altered fate. I didn't allow myself to hesitate, moving on to the next one. A woman this time, with two children. Free now. Young man, parahuman. The third thread snapped and the shifting currents of the ocean screamed.

My head snapped back, ringing as I felt something press in from the outside like this entire time, the ocean had been held inside a thin membrane. A plastic bag or bubble and now someone was digging a rusted nail into it, sawing, trying to get it to tear and spill. Was – was the Simurgh trying to break in? To – to my power? Why – what was she doing? _How was she doing it?_

The ocean rebelled, and spat the Simurgh out. The angel's face was a frozen rictus of rage. The Endbringers didn't have emotions, I reminded myself. That didn't stop a lump from forming in my throat. I licked my lips and tasted something sweet. I reflexively raised a hand, and it came away bloody. Nose bleed? I wiped it away. The Simurgh hadn't moved, oddly still. Slowly, her face eased back into a neutral expression.

New Delhi's fear spiraled upwards. My attention snapped to it and saw, a second Simurgh descending upon the city way ahead of schedule. What – I turned back, and the illusion came apart. White wings and feathers became stray clouds.

My blood froze as I watched the very futures I was trying to prevent abruptly shift closer to reality. With a sense of finality, the Simurgh opened her mouth. Theatrics, some part of my brain said. Her singing wasn't audible. For her to be indulging now, it was a message. For me. You lose. I snarled. It wasn't over yet. I was not done! The anger came easily, hot and bitter.

_Don't fucking play games with me._

I targeted every parahuman on standby in America and Canada with a simple message: New Delhi. Now. Alexandria had the gall to question me.

"You sure?" She said out loud. I shoved the vision into her mind. Of Eidolon blinking to the top of a building, form crackling with black lightning. The Simurgh shifting lazily out of the dark arc of energy. I didn't waste words.

The black-clad heroine nodded. "Stay where you are."

So she could make sure I'm watched? Have someone report on my condition, what I'm doing while shit was happening on the other side of the world? Where would I even go?

New Delhi. Was it possible? I could see that Alexandria thought it might be; that I might gain a new power to travel great distances when I wanted it, if I needed it.

Maybe.

But going there in person, that would just make me another target. Even if I could, I would be putting myself right in the middle of three Endbringers.

I didn't have to be there physically. I had been across the world, over China. Over Russia. Over India before. I hadn't seen this then. I guess it made sense that I hadn't. This was only happening because of me. More lives I was ruining. Four hundred and counting, now. I owed this.

I lunged forward, out of my body. I didn't float on the currents and eddies of the immaterial ocean this time. The waves from Leviathan and Behemoth slammed into me painfully, pulling and pushing me into different directions. I dug my heels in, feeling the ocean respond. It was hard where I needed it to be, and it flowed around and over and through me when I didn't. I steadied myself and swallowed the trickle of fear that shivered down my spine.

I don't think I'd be able to feel another monster coming. Not with the ocean this turbulent. My fear played tricks on me in the shifting currents. I could almost see the shadows of creatures trying to form around me, reaching, only to be torn apart by the waves.

I breathed in, feeling the silky flow pass through my lips. Not yet. I haven't reached my limit yet. How much farther was it? Did it matter? No, not really. It didn't matter at all.

There.

I took a step.

* * *

**_Hubris_**

* * *

David grunted as the concrete block clipped him in the shoulder. He heard the wet pop as he was spun around by the force of it. The pain came an instant later. Broken, he thought. She'd seen him coming. Of course. He was going to hit a building, one of his powers helpfully informed him. Right. He blinked back to a rooftop a block away. He hit the gravel hard and rolled. His broken arm became a rusty knife, piercing pain making him grit his teeth as he squeezed his eyes shut. He forced them open. He couldn't afford to be blind, not even for a second.

He counted out the two seconds and his body reset. The pain vanished, but the memory remained. He gingerly got to his feet.

_Don't engage her yet_. Farseer's voice spoke in his head, momentarily drowning out the Simurgh's scream. _I need to figure out what she's doing, her goal. That would be easier if the focus was off you for at least a little while._

Out the corner of his eye, David could see a faint figure, but when he turned to face it, it just shifted to his peripheral again. He frowned. "Farseer?"

The figure was that of an elfin girl as tall as he was with dark hair and green eyes locked onto the Simurgh in the distance. She wore decorative bone armor underneath a crimson and black tabard. In the center of her chest, a large green teardrop shone with an inner light and to his alarm, it looked she was crying blood. Her eyes shifted to him and her face showed some surprise.

_You can see me?_

"Yes," David answered. "What are you doing here?"

_I am physically still in Brockton Bay._

"Projection," he said. Her presence adequately explained, he didn't see a need to go further with it. "Can you see it? What the Simurgh is doing?"

Farseer's face was placid. _I can see everything. She is twisting the populace. Not all of them. A few here and there. To do what, to accomplish what, I need to know._

Her voice was still drowning out the Simurgh's, David realized. When she spoke, the scream vanished as if there was only room for one voice in his head.

Farseer turned to face him fully. _Really?_

For a moment he was off balance, belatedly remembered the mind reading thing. "Can you expand it? To everyone? Block the Simurgh out?"

Some emotion flickered across her face, but it was gone before he could identify it. Her smile looked brittle.

_Yes._ She opened her mouth and began to sing. The Simurgh's oppressive presence in the back of his mind faded.

"Thank you," Eidolon breathed. Then he turned and blinked back into the fight.

* * *

Behind him, I closed my mouth. The Simurgh's scream; it had never been about the sound. If you could hear it in the first place, she already had you. Smoke and mirrors. But if you knew where to look, there was a glimmer of something real. I kept the song going, a beautiful weaving of notes formed from half-recalled memories of my dreams. I could feel the effect it had on people fighting her when they no longer heard her scream, so I expanded it to the civilians. I didn't feel any strain. Compartmentalizing it in the back of my mind I dropped three floors through the building. I stopped behind a young woman who was glued to the window, speaking rapidly into her helmet radio. She was dressed opulently in turquoise with silver bands and long wavy brown hair spilling down her back. I gave her a mental tap.

Spooked, she turned. "तुम कौन हो?"

I ignored the question. _Your father is known as Phir Se. The Simurgh is going to kill you in order to set up a future where he irradiates the Indian peninsula._

Her mouth worked, and nothing came out.

Yeah. That's about what I thought.

Come with me if you want to live, my brain joked in some dusty corner of my skull. I wasn't actually going to say that, but I was really tempted. I spared a moment to finish compartmentalizing the song from my dreams in my mind. I couldn't let it falter or stop, but every ounce of attention that I spent on it was attention I wasn't spending on other things.

Things that would actually do something about why the Simurgh was even here. I crossed over the windows beside her and looked out. From here, it was a clear view to the scene of the battle. There were close to sixty people down there, with more trickling in every minute. The Protectorate. I noticed a few familiar costumes. Armsmaster and Dauntless, I saw. Dragon. That meant she had to pull away from the Heartbreaker operation early. I recognized the blue and white costume of Legend.

An angel, roughly double the size of a full grown man, hovered below New Delhi's skyline. She shifted between and around the skyscrapers. To break line of sight, I noticed. Not out of necessity. The Endbringers, all of them, were notoriously hard to hurt. The Simurgh didn't allow herself to be hit regularly. Many attacks simply went through concrete and metal. No, it was just psychological.

Human beings relied on their sight. When you can't see your target, it would make you hesitate. It would make you uncertain. There was an equal chance that instead of hitting the Simurgh, any number of the close range capes could be shot in the back. Killed by their own allies. Many didn't wait for her to become visible again, simply shooting through the buildings. It was late in this part of the world. There wouldn't have been many people in them. But there were some.

The building we were in trembled with ground tremors. Everything creaked as several of the windows splintered at the edges with sharp cracks. The city lights were still on, festive blues and purples lighting up a smoking skyline lit by gas and electrical fires. Thunder constantly rumbled as floors of buildings collapsed in on themselves, bright with pain from victims trapped underneath falling rubble.

Underneath were the quieter sounds of gunshots, squealing brakes on cars and trains, wailing and crying of people on the street running to escape.

What else could I be doing? Search and rescue? Focus more on the fight, try to influence their attacks so that they would hit, actually do damage? How was this all going to end?

Can't dwell on that. Think more, feel less.

This building was far enough from the battle that only the loudest sounds reached us. It was too far for human eyes to see much of anything with any detail. Phir Se's daughter could see it, I knew. A Thinker with powers centered around her eyesight, feeding information to more experienced capes that had not involved themselves. Yet.

"Father can't do that," she said. Her speech was accented and stiff in the way that made think she was not at all used to English. Her dark eyes were flickering over me, taking in every, single meticulous detail. Her gaze lingered on my ears and face. A small note of concern/alarm came from her that I ignored.

_He can't, or won't?_ She glared mulishly at me. How old was she? Twelve, thirteen? I literally towered over her. _He can do it. _I nodded out the window. _Will he?_

She bit her lip. "He protects India."

What the Simurgh was capable of doing to people, capable of twisting them into, she already knew. She was just being stubborn now. I rifled through her head for words. Despite thinking in…Hindi? It was easier to read than if she thought in numbers like a certain someone I knew.

_There is a reason why he is thanda, yes._

'Thanda' meant 'cold.' There were other concepts attached to that word, defining 'cold' as a cold without light. Shadow. I had no way of knowing if that was really how the word was used, just what she thought of it. It was enough to give me context. She had no doubt that her father was a good man, in the end. In her mind, 'good' did not mean 'nice.'

She wasn't that naive. She knew what kind of person her father was. Didn't matter. I wasn't here to debate with some kid about her dad's heroing policy.

_India is not that reason_, I said. _I would prefer he lose no one else._

That did it. The future shifted, slightly. I hated the uncertainty. If I could reach out to the Simurgh directly, see its thoughts, its intentions and goals, or even just see its immediate future…but I couldn't. Blind where it mattered.

The girl frowned. "Answer me. Who are you?"

I frowned right back. Precocious creature.

_I am called Farseer. Are there any more questions we could waste time on or would you prefer living instead?_

Her face blanked. To no effect, I could feel the small blister of uneasiness in her fester. "I have not heard of you," she said carefully. "You are not Indian. You are from America?"

The Protectorate were 'garam' or 'hot' in her mind. In the light. Recognized, publicized. If I was not garam, then I was thanda. The latter definitely had connotations I didn't want.

But fuck if I was going to tell her that technically? This was my first night out as a cape. I absorbed that, pausing a moment.

Fuck.

So I plastered a slight smile on my face and chose to ignore the question entirely. _In three minutes, this building will collapse. Tell him that._

"Wha – " Her helmet radio sounded with a male voice demanding something. On reflex, she turned to the window. When she remembered herself and turned back, I dropped through the floor.

The girl here. The woman there. The man further to the north of the city. I had time. I could make it. Two others were already dead, killed in the opening salvo that brought down an office building. Nothing I could do for them. There were others that were meant to live through this. Who they were and why changed every minute. Just when I thought myself certain, the Simurgh changed her plans.

She was running through all of her contingencies, I thought. Evaluating, and the future was changing with it. And hundred thousands of others that were white noise distractions I had to sort through. She had spent years setting New Delhi up to fall. The pieces were already in place.

Too many, too quickly.

I stepped through the lobby doors into the crush of people fleeing downtown. The whir of military helicopters approached in the distance. Quarantine, I remembered. How long did the city have? I risked it and sent the thought to Armsmaster. I dimmed the song in his head first, just enough for him to notice so that he was paying attention.

_How much time until the city is condemned?_

"Farseer," the hero murmured. I heard him repeat my question to Dragon under the noise. "Twenty-six minutes."

Less than half an hour. I had choices. Change the verdict. If I could make them believe that I could truly counter the Simurgh, then maybe I could move that option off the table. If. And worse, I didn't think that would even be true.

I could snap the threads of fate she wove. I couldn't unbreak minds.

Twenty-six minutes. Shit.

"Farseer?" I heard the uncertain whisper. I turned to see the girl step towards me, shouldering her way through the crowd of people. Her eyes flicked up and to the south where the Simurgh was periodically.

_We're going to your father,_ I told her. What are you called?

"दूरनज़र."

I stopped. Your cape name is Farsight?

Or Farsee-er. Was the universe having some kind of joke at my expense right now?

That got me a bit of a wry look. I shook my head. _Never mind._

Farsight's eyes flicked up and down the buildings. "How?"

I knew what she was asking. That one right there. I pointed out the building on the other side of the road. The two had a large metal and wood terrace structure between them. Not strong enough to walk from one building to the other, there weren't any openings for that anyway. It was just decoration for the large advertisement plastered to it. As for how?

Behemoth.

_Earthquake,_ I said instead. I reached out and planted a vision of the ground just giving way under one side of the building, of the entire thing buckling for a moment, before toppling over the road into the other one into every nearby mind.

Pandemonium as half the fleeing crowd in the shadow of the doomed buildings reversed in panic.

I expected it. It was the only way that would get the most people clear of the site in time. That didn't mean I felt the three people that were trampled in the chaos any less.

I gave Farsight a different vision. It led her off the road and into an abandoned clothing store. She could get out through the metal door in the back. A shortcut into a small alley that led into another main street on the other side and well away from the fallout.

It fell apart shortly after she escaped the mob into the store. She found the back door, right where it was supposed to be. It was locked. I stopped dead, a pit forming in my stomach. It wasn't supposed to be locked.

Farsight tried the door, futilely. She looked up sharply as the ground rumbled, rattling the walls and windows. There was no time for her to leave and find another way out. Such a small detail. If I had known, I would have – would have what? She was twelve. I didn't want her to be run into the ground, that was the entire reason I chose this route.

_Move away from the wall_, I commanded. I could feel it around me. See through it still, enough to touch minds. That should be enough. I reached out to touch the space in between and _pushed._

The world went sideways as a serrated spike of pain speared through my head. I was up, down, right, diagonal, back in my body, out of it half in the ground and partly into the outer atmosphere. I lurched forward and vomited nothing but blood onto the sidewalk.

I dry heaved a few times after. The back of my throat burned. My head felt like it was splitting in two and my nose had started bleeding again. I wiped my face with my sleeve.

Ow, I thought, clutching the short metal handrail on our steps. I pulled myself back into a sitting position, leaning against it.

I froze. Wait. If I was here –

I lunged out of my body.

Above New Delhi, rain had begun to fall. Cracks were opening in the street with constant tremors. I tried to get my bearings, turning in the middle of an empty side street. I sung, willing it to reach everyone over the splitting pain in my head. A sharp sound rang out. I looked up and watched electrical wires pull taunt before snapping, whipping into the air sparking with live electricity. The poles bent from the force with painful squeals as the connectors and fuse boxes sheared off the side of buildings to rise into the air. Further, I could see an engine block rip itself out of a car and rapidly disassembled in midair. Within a minute of watching, the air became clogged with metal debris moving towards the Simurgh. Building something.

For the defenders? For New Delhi? For me?

The angel turned, a growing ball of material in front of her. A man was yanked up. I felt a sick kind of relief. Unfamiliar costume. No one I knew. Dread pooled in my stomach as he flailed in the air, clearly not there of his own power. I lunged into the future, grabbing at the threads. What is it? What is it? What did she want? What was she going to do?

I saw Legend break away from the defenders as a dark blur, but I already knew it was too late. At one moment, it was a man hanging in the air before the Simurgh.

In the next, his organs were splattering on the pavement.

_No_.

Time slowed to a crawl and I saw it. A hundred and one atrocities were being primed all around New Delhi. For tomorrow. For next week. For next year. I expected this from her, didn't I? Divide and conquer. She was going to make me choose. The ground rumbled beneath our feet. I saw the device she was building. I saw what it was for.

A storm.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Hubris_**

* * *

_'__[ – move is precisely controlled, isn't paying attention, usually doesn't, power is doing it for her. Power is precise, perfectly accurate. Doesn't make mistakes, can't make mistakes –] '_

Yeah, not helpful. She moved her eyes and caught on the pacing man spinning a pen about his index finger.

_'[Perfect geometric circle, movements according to the golden ratio 1.61803398875 –] '_

She ripped her eyes to the ceiling.

_'[Stress fractures on beams, poor construction not tolerated, stress related to age, external factors –]'_

She thrust her hand in the air like she was sitting in the math class she hadn't gone to in two years. "Question."

The pen made a meaty thwack against Number Man's palm in the sudden silence. She was not a self-conscious person. It was hard to be self-conscious when everyone else's problem of self-consciousness picked up a signal horn and red flags the moment she looked at them hard enough. Still. She felt that cold prickle up her spine. She was looking at the ceiling with her hand in the air, and people were looking at her.

People with body counts in the double digits at least.

They were listening, so she had to continue. "Why New Delhi?"

She let her eyes fall from the ceiling just enough to see the Number Man's dull grey eyes behind thin frame glasses flick over to the right with an oddly bemused smile on his face. Evil conspiracy super accountant was dressed like one in a dark business suit and fractal patterns on his tie.

"I was under the impression Tattletale had been briefed," he said.

"She was," Contessa answered.

"I'm not talking about the obvious," Tattletale defended herself. "Ziz primed New Delhi for bad shit to go down, Farseer interfered. I know that. What I mean is _why _New Delhi? Look at this," she swept a hand out. "Facility's roof collapses in or something and bam," she slapped her palm on the table and internally winced. Bomb, she meant to say bomb. There were two other floors above them, roof would have to do a whole lot more than collapse to get them all.

Dumb ass power, she didn't need to know about fucking ceiling stress.

"There goes a group of literally strongest thinkers on the planet."

"Tattletale paying me a compliment," Thomas Calvert's voice filtered through the speakers. On the screen he was still lying prone on the gurney. A blindfold covered his eyes and he had a white knuckled grip on a pale teenage boy's hand. The boy had flat skin flaps over where his eyes should have been and his other hand gripped the hand of a third male, early twenties. She had never heard them speak. "Should mark it on the calendar."

Says the man having limp dick wet dreams about what he could do with Contessa's power.

"She was hovering over Brockton _before _this, right? What's special about New Delhi? How many people is it, couple hundred thousand?"

"Twenty-one point seven five million," the Number Man said.

"Huh," Tattletale replied. "No shit?"

"It breaks the pattern Farseer observed," Contessa mused. She sat on the other side of the table with one leg over the other. Like Number Man, she could fit into any urban scene around the world. Dark pants and blood red loose turtleneck shirt simultaneously striking and mundane.

"This attack does," the Number Man confirmed as he moved back towards the white board flipping his pen across his knuckles. "But then, this attacks breaks the pattern for all of them."

_'[Leviathan and Behemoth present, not visible. Endbringers are being deceptive. Maintaining illusion New Delhi is a standard attack. Acted in response to Farseer. Acted in response to Farseer's interference in New Delhi. Could have been Behemoth or Leviathan. Chose Simurgh. Simurgh chose herself. Wanted a result.]'_

"She wants the city quarantined," Tattletale muttered. "That's why it isn't Behemoth or Leviathan."

_'[Wanted a certain result.]'_

"Quarantined, not destroyed."

Contessa drummed her fingers on the table exactly once. "She thinks the situation in New Delhi is salvageable, or will be salvageable. Not that time sensitive, but requires control. Important?"

"She only needs to run out the clock on condemning the city," the Number Man pointed out. "Not a second more. Why is she staying?"

"The device," Coil interjected. "It builds it in every timeline. No deviation. Destroy it, it builds another." The thin man in blue sweats gingerly shifted his pillow. He was careful not to lose his grip on the boy's hand. He raised his free arm and lazily rotated a finger in the air. "I'll add 'in less pleasant ways.'"

_'[Unexpectedly complacent with new circumstances. Needs control, lost it. Needs power, lost it. Can't escape new arrangement. Concerned. Hiding it. Convinced to cooperate, offered -]'_

Not now.

_'[Device not intended to destroy city. Device is important. Building device because of Farseer. Device is for Farseer.]'_

If it's for Farseer then why is she building it in New Delhi and not right on top of Brockton Bay?

Why New Delhi?

_'[Device is for Farseer. Device will affect Farseer.]'_

"I'm drawing a blank," Tattletale admitted reluctantly. "Did she do something like this before? Against other Thinkers? Against Contessa?"

"No," the woman said.

"Not exactly," Number Man said at the same time.

Their eyes met. Contessa raised an eyebrow questioningly and Number Man shrugged one shoulder as he started to spin his _fucking pen _again.

"Madison," he said.

"Woah, wait." Tattletale held up both hands. "What about Madison?"

_'[Wanted a certain result.]'_

It hadn't mattered that Wisconsin was nearly the very definition of bumfuck nowhere with only two cities worth anything. One had Elvis Presley's motorcycle and the other one had a shitty football team, but it was still America. The Simurgh could have picked an Amish settlement in Wherever, Utah, and it still would have rocked everyone. If Madison hadn't been on the map before, it was now.

As the largest insane asylum on American soil.

"We were relatively close to a breakthrough on the formulas," the Number Man began. "Strength and stability. We had a fair number of successes." One side of his mouth tugged. "She took it."

"Took it," Tattletale repeated. "How?"

"A replica of Professor Haywire's technology, the very same device that had originally brought us into contact with Earth Aleph. She built and used it in Madison. The reports of monsters were a slight exaggeration. One of the dimensional breaches was in our holding cells." He shrugged again with a slightly frustrated air. "The research database and backups were wiped. Cases of stable formulas missing. Subjects that provided key insights set loose. She took it."

Tattletale looked over at Contessa. "She _knows?_"

The woman inclined her head. "So it seems."

That doesn't make any sense. Or it made sense, but not the right kind of sense. And she needed to think about the sense it _did_ make, because if she didn't, she was going to be thinking about how even on another Earth, none of them were actually _safe._

"That's it?" Tattletale licked her lips. "She didn't kill you. She didn't even attack you, she just – she just _lost your paperwork?"_

_'[Simurgh moved against Cauldron. Directly interfered. Why Madison? Quarantined city, Cauldron members not physically present. Cauldron had no investment in Madison. Madison chosen for a reason. Reason unrelated to Cauldron. Two birds one stone. Madison chosen. Responds to Thinkers. Thinker in Madison?]'_

But Ziz had started screaming over Brockton Bay.

_'[Target was Farseer. Farseer is a threat. Attacks neutralize threats. Cauldron hindered. Not neutralized. Simurgh does not neutralize threats.]'_

And Madison had been a normal Endbringer attack. No Behemoth, no Leviathan. And this attack was sudden. Unorganized almost. Why start over Brockton Bay, then up and leave to the other side of the world?

Change of plans?

_'[Farseer more of a threat than Cauldron.]'_

" – don't know if the Simurgh can actually see you, or if she's seeing around you," the Number Man was saying. "A hard thing to determine, for obvious reasons."

"Scion has been our primary focus since inception," Contessa said evenly. "We decided there was no use in splitting focus to counter a threat the world was already aware of. The inherent overlap in our solutions would have had to suffice."

Leviathan could have attacked Brockton Bay instead, she realized. The Endbringers were either communicating somehow or just conspicuously had the exact same goals as one another. Leviathan could have entered the bay and attacked the city to literally drown Farseer.

Instead the Simurgh descended. Screamed. Stopped and flew the fuck off to New Delhi.

_'[Farseer is a threat.]'_

Jesus H. Fucking Christ Hebert, you scared Ziz shitless.

" – be able to get more information if Scion shows up."

"Repeat that," Tattletale snapped out.

Calvert had sat up. The blindfold was pulled up, revealing bloodshot and unfocused eyes. His pupils were too big for the brightly lit room, because he wasn't using his eyes to see anymore. Being physically blind didn't seem to matter to Clairvoyant or anyone he gave his sight to, but the disconnect was _two _bitches and a half.

She knew that from personal experience.

"Farseer intends to create a storm over the city to lure Scion to it," Coil said patiently. He paused. "Paraphrasing from half a conversation. Can't hear her projection. The Triumvirate believes it will work, enough to let her try."

"And he's what? Going to chase _three _Endbringers away?"

"Yes," Number Man said.

"Right." Tattletale pinched the bridge of her nose. "Because there is no problem with relying on the alien god that wants to kill us all for goddamn super heroics. Don't know how I forgot."

Her life had gotten really fucking absurd since that storm over Winslow High.

_'[Taylor Hebert is Farseer. Bullied. Isolated, low self-esteem. Mother died in car accident. Low trust in authority.]'_

"We have a distinct lack of good options." Number Man caught his spinning pen. "At this time, Farseer is not expendable."

Implying that other people _were_ expendable, and leaving open the possibility that Hebert would become more trouble than she was worth. Here was a guy who really knew how to make a girl feel appreciated.

"I can't be the only one who saw this coming." Tattletale's left hand hunted for her water bottle. "Come on, bullied highschooler. Powers to self-esteem is like Viagra to old men with trophy wives, and she got good powers."

Contessa's dark eyes looked down for a moment.

Tattletale stopped, water bottle to her lips. "I wasn't the only one who saw this coming," she said. "_You people."_

"I ran the numbers," Number Man said. "Sooner is better. More time for us to act on new information, less time for externalities to become acclimated. The response was outside the margins of error."

"So the numbers were wrong."

"Yes," Contessa said.

"And that's good." He turned back to the white board. "We want to know just how wrong we are. The Endbringers just played a card we did not know they had. If Scion does respond to Farseer, the implications are huge."

Thinking about Scion wasn't quite an exercise in futility, but it was damn near close enough. Golden Boy was the very definition of a black box. There just wasn't enough information. He vanished off the face of the Earth at the drop of a hat, didn't talk to anyone, hung around in the Atlantic and spooked the hell out of everyone who's ever met him.

That wasn't because of bad PR. He just didn't care much about people. Like a bad penny, he followed disasters. Why?

Fuck if anyone knows.

She cast her eyes over the whiteboard. "Scion does fight the Endbringers though. Sometimes."

"Less damage, fewer injured, fewer deaths, shortest attacks when he does," Number Man confirmed.

"That's just it." Tattletale sprang out of her chair to the front. She snatched up one of the markers out of nervous energy. She underlined one of Farseer's quotes on the board. "They escalate on Eidolon. They escalated on Farseer." And others. Moscow, Kyushu, Newfoundland. "Scion? They don't even try."

_'[Endbringers avoidant of Scion. Caution means uncertainty. Fear. Endbringers are aware of threats. Endbringers move against threats. Scion is a threat to the Endbringers. Endbringers know Scion is a threat. Simurgh knows Scion is a threat. Endbringers know Scion is a threat. _

_Cauldron knows Scion is a threat. Simurgh attacked Cauldron; attacks neutralize threats. Cauldron not neutralized. Simurgh does not neutralize threats. Simurgh moved against Farseer. Simurgh does neutralize threats. Cauldron not a threat. Cauldron is an asset.]'_

Her mouth dropped open.

_"Fuck me," _she breathed.

_'[Farseer is a threat. Farseer aware of Endbringers, aware of Scion. Farseer knows she is a threat.]'_

"Eidolon is re-engaging the Simurgh," Coil reported with a thousand yard stare fixated on the corner of the metal table.

"End timeline," Contessa ordered. "Split."

"Uh, guys?" Tattletale began.

_'[Farseer is a threat; knows. Farseer is a threat to everyone; knows. Provoked Endbringers unintentionally. Isolated, low self-esteem. Desperate. Farseer knows she is a threat to everyone. Won't be a threat._

_Refuses to be a threat.]'_

Something cold settled in the pit of her stomach.

"Someone needs to check on Farseer," Tattletale said. "Someone needs to check on her right the fuck now."

On the screen, Coil stilled. "I believe Farseer is going to require medical attention. Soon."

Number Man jumped, as if stung. "Attacked?"

"Possible," her ex-boss allowed. "I do not see anyone on site. Injuries do not match any parahuman I know of in the Bay." He paused. "Her power does not seem to be Manton-limited. In any direction."

Self-harm.

"I'm going," Tattletale informed the room. "Door me to that street."

"Door me to my hotel room," Number Man said. The window in space opened in front of the blond man who wasted no time in going through.

Tattletale grit her teeth as she met Contessa's gaze. The woman's stare was evaluating.

_'[Knows me perfectly. Doesn't make mistakes, can't make mistakes. Power is perfectly accurate. Power limited. Doesn't know outcome, can't know outcome. Has to guess.]'_

"Door her."

The rip in space opened and she went through. There was a slight drop before her sneakers hit the pavement. A cold winter wind was blowing hard. The street lights were flickering. Some were dead and sparking, others were just unsteady. Most of the houses on this street had been hastily abandoned. Some ran from the Simurgh to shelters or out of town, some ran from someone else. There was a thick frost on the lawns.

_'[Not cold or wet enough for this much frost. Caused by powers. Caused by Farseer's powers.]'_

The Hebert house was lit up like it was in front of a high-powered work light.

Taylor Hebert _was _that high-powered work light.

The elf was floating limply, an aura of white-purple lightning snapped and crackled around her and shone from her eye sockets. Eye sockets that were bleeding, thick pulpy blood in streams that merged with the blood seeping from glowing lacerations in her skin. The edges of the wounds were _charred. _

She'd been standing there, gaping for maybe ten seconds before Farseer noticed her.

_Why are you here?_

Holy shit she's telepathic.

The voice in her head sounded tired.

_I don't need your help, Sarah. _Farse – Taylor, said stiffly.

"Well," Tattletale said grimly as she shifted to look up at the Hebert house. Danny Hebert had a file. There was no way he'd let his daughter do this to herself if he knew.

"I kind of disagree."

Tattletale cast her eyes over the Hebert home. It was an older building, 40, 50 years old with the signs of wear and tear all homes that age had at one point. The paint was peeling off the rotting windowsills. Too many windows for a single income family in Brockton Bay to afford replacing. The copper coated roof over a small bay window was oxidized green under the gutter's water trail and one of the wooden steps in front of the door needed fixing. Garage was filled with junk, so the truck was parked outside. Badly dented mailbox; someone had taken a baseball bat to it.

_'[Danny Hebert, grieving widower, depressed. Problem avoidant, garage is filled with dead wife's things. Old family things. Unused sporting equipment, tools for house projects, old books.]'_

It was the little things, both old and new that told her what she needed to know. Like that truck with the BAYU REP license plate's frequent presence in the PRT's parking lot around 5:35 pm every day. Old Dodge pickups were a dime a dozen, **Bay U**nion **Rep**resentative vanity plates weren't.

It took fifteen minutes to drive from the Dockworker's Union building to the PRT, the DU let out at 5 pm sharp. Danny Hebert forgot his home and threw himself into work. Fifteen minutes would be spent sitting in the car in the parking lot on his cell phone, not going anywhere.

His wife died in a car accident while on the phone, see?

_'[Emotional, invested, irrational. Endbringer alarms went off less than an hour ago. Should still be awake, isn't. Went to sleep. Made to go to sleep.]'_

_I don't need your pity either, _Taylor said.

"That what you think this is? Pity?"

Taylor's lips curled into this gently amused smile. _I could have said that I don't need your self-serving hypocritical sympathy, but I was trying to be nice._

Ouch.

"You know," After a moment of deliberation, Tattletale plopped her butt down on the curb by the Hebert's mailbox. She could afford to get these pants dirty, but she was really starting to wish that she had thought to bring a coat. "Usually people are happy when someone cares about them hurting themselves."

_And what was Taylor Hebert to you before you saw her picture on TV? _

Tattletale's eyes did cartwheels. "Seriously? Blaming someone for not being omniscient is a bit much."

_An insecure, low self-esteem woman with an eating disorder works in a clothing store. I am blaming you for deciding to twist the knife just to make yourself feel better._

That – Okay.

She remembered that.

_The boy in the wheelchair. The alcoholic at the bus stop. The couple in the supermarket. The woman – _

"I get it." She idly ran a hand through her blonde hair. The sigh she let out was exasperated. If she had to think back and consider things, she thought she might do it differently. At the start when she left home, she hadn't been in the best frame of mind. She could admit that. A lot of bitterness there. Some things she said, she regretted.

_'[Low self-esteem, isolated, bullied. Farseer does not like bullies. Farseer possess post-cognition. Past behavior counter-productive here.]'_

"I get it," she said again. Quieter.

_Sarah, _Taylor's telepathic voice sighed. _You've always gotten it. That's the problem._

"It's Lisa," she interjected. "Lisa Wilbourn. Not Sarah."

She could have just dumped the last name. Sarah was a common enough name. But same first name and similar appearance? That would have raised questions. She could have changed appearance too, different haircuts to shape the face, dyed her hair another color. Darker color. She could have kept the name.

She hadn't wanted to keep anything. A clean break.

_And yet Lisa Wilbourn is the one mourning Sarah Livsey's brother._

Tattletale's head rocked back in shock, eyes wide.

_Yes, _Taylor said softly. _That is exactly how it feels when you do it to others. It's not clean, and it's not pretty. _The sharp smell of ozone assaulted Tattletale's nose. _I think you should leave now._

In response, she buried her hands in the crease between her stomach and her knees. "So were you always this much of a bitch or is it a rec – Jesus!"

Taylor had opened her eyes.

Behind the eyelids, the eyeballs were gone. Something she could only expect with how much blood was making the tracks down her face, but _seeing _it directly was something else. Instead there were orbs of bluish white lightning where the eyes would be, sitting atop a thin layer of ash. Tattletale felt like every part of her was cringing. Her stomach rolled.

Taylor's smile had a cruel edge. _It's not as bad as it looks._

"It _looks _pretty fucking bad."

She had to look away. Just for a second. Get her bearings back. She wiggled her toes. They were going numb.

_'[Does not think of injuries as something to get help for. Injuries are to be endured. Can fall apart later. Not just suicidal. Martyr. Low self-esteem, but prideful. Bad combination.]'_

She bit her lip.

This wasn't helping. She wasn't helping. She needed more information, leverage. She needed to take a minute and think about how she was going to talk a super powered teenager into the idea that they were wrong. That dying wasn't worth it.

_'[Danny Hebert, depressed, irrational. Annette Hebert died in car accident. Taylor loves her parents.]'_

No.

She wasn't going to use that.

A headache bloomed in her temples. A bit of nausea crept up her throat as her face tingled. The air seemed colder. The symptoms were familiar, a random piece of trivia lodged in her brain.

_'[Barometric migraine symptoms. Severe air pressure drop. No thundercloud, no storm. Farseer is causing a localized air pressure drop.]'_

Tattletale read about things. Beyond just getting her GED, she had to. The more symptoms, the more causes, the more disorders and motives and vices she knew, the easier it was to see it in others.

Taylor's floating body tensed, curling up in a reflexive defensive movement. Her hands reached out like she was trying to push something away. Something big. Icy patterns spread across the pavement underneath her. All the lights on the street went out. The smell of ozone became rotten eggs. A shadow of a _thing _superimposed on Taylor's face for a moment before it cleared, and Farseer relaxed.

_You are distracting me, _Taylor said.

"And _you_ are going to get yourself killed," Tattletale replied.

_A risk I'm willing to take._

"It's a fucking stupid risk to take. Think that's the only thing at fucking risk here?" A thought occurred to her. Tattletale had walked out of Doormaker's portal onto the middle of the street. Not dressed for the weather. No obvious mode of transportation. For a super Thinker, Farseer should have noticed. Clairvoyance, empathy, pre-cognition, actual honest to god telepathy? Fuck. Should have commented on it if she knew.

Farseer wasn't like Contessa. Tattletale could almost smell the vulnerability. "You don't actually know why I'm here, do you? You're just guessing."

_You're here to sand the rough edges of guilt off, make yourself feel better. It's what you do when you think someone is suicidal._

"Because it's fucking stupid!" Tattletale barked a harsh, grating laugh. "You know what I see? Someone who's trying really hard _not to think. _It's not like we have _no one else _who can see the Endbringers. It's not like the world is massive, stinking _shithole _someone with global fucking reach on their fucking powers could do something with. It's not like Cau – the Protectorate isn't honestly starting to believe that a certain someone could be the best chance to save _everyone_ instead of just _some _that anyone's had in a long fucking time_."_

Taylor's brow furrowed.

_It would take too long to explain._

"Don't need to. This is you feeling sorry for yourself." _'[Hypocrite.]' _"This is you deciding that you had all the answers when you know you don't. This isn't a risk you want to take because it's necessary. It's a risk you want to take because it means you don't have to face your fuck ups."

She already knew what she was about to say was going too far.

"This is you being just as stupid as Emma said you were."

Something stole the air from Tattletale's lungs. She choked. She tried to breathe in but her lungs wouldn't inflate. She was seeing spots in her vision by the time the pressure cleared.

She coughed. Lightheaded and dizzy. A headache was still drilling into her temples. She wasn't Number Man. Or Contessa. She was a Thinker with no direct combat applications. Vulnerable. That wasn't something she liked being reminded of. And she thought, keep talking.

Keep talking.

"Cause that's what's left, right?" She rasped. She grabbed a handful of frost off the Hebert's front lawn and pressed it to her head. Let it melt down her face. "After New Delhi and the Endbringers, after the quarantine and survivors come back, that's what's left. You fucked up. And everyone knows."

Taylor didn't respond. Her eyes were closed again, leaving a seemingly unconscious elf floating in the street. The puddle of red underneath her was spreading along the black ice.

"And it isn't even the first one. Plane crashed, other missing. There's guilt for that. You put a team of PRT troopers in solitary confinement. You fucked the city over, again. You don't know what you did to Sophia. You haven't thought about it cause if you did, you'd know. You've been fucking up ever since you came out of your fucking locker, right?" She waved a hand at the Hebert home. "Before the locker. The last time you weren't a fuck up was _years _ago."

Saying that stung a bit. Word association. She said something like that before she left home. She couldn't remember the last time her family wasn't a fuck up.

"So you decide you have to do it. You have to fix things. And you've got to stop yourself, 'cause you went from fucking over four hundred plus in that plane and now you're at twenty one point seven five million. You've got to stop. And if the Protectorate can't or _won't _stop you_, _then you _will."_

Her throat was dry. Her toes were completely numb now and the wet had soaked through her pants. The curb was not a comfortable place to sit.

"Have I gotten warm yet?"

Taylor didn't say anything. That was fine. She expected that. Taylor Hebert was not the kind of person that easily conceded a point. But she was a Thinker. Not saying anything was pretty much conceding the point.

In the distance, she heard the wail of a siren.

_'[PRT squad cars, van en route. Breaking speed limits. Number Man warned them.]'_

_I don't know how to stop, _Taylor's voice whispered.

"You have to trust someone." Because Tattletale had spent a lot of time _thinking _after her brother shot himself. Every missed implication, every wasted opportunity, every ignored sign jumping up and down screaming _help me _was there. Hindsight was 20/20, right?

And Thinkers could see better than most.

"Not your Dad." She knew that wasn't going to work. "But you're Farseer. You could go to any team you wanted. You could ask Myrrdin, or Chevalier, or _Alexandria. _You could go to New York, and knock on Legend's _door_ if you wanted."

_They aren't going to want me after this. I wouldn't want me. I'm a walking liability –_

"Shut up." Tattletale snapped. "Are you telling me what you _think _or what you _know_?"

There was no answer.

"Do you think we aren't all fuck ups? Do you know the utter shit people go through to trigger? Do you know _mine?"_

Farseer had post-cognition. That was just asking for the other girl to look, but that didn't matter. Lisa Wilbourn had made peace with it a long time ago.

"They're heroes. They get over it. They learn to live with it. They try to do better. That's what they do." Listen to me, she thought. Giving the heroes a recommendation. She meant it though. Most didn't live up to that. Most couldn't, that was just how things worked.

But some did.

That was just how things worked. Call it the human condition.

When did her opinion change?

It was probably the day she went to the kitchen for morning coffee, and Contessa was sitting on the couch with a pot already brewed.

"You can read minds, right? You've got everything." She ran a wet hand through her hair. "You can find out. You can find out who to trust. But you need – "

The light from the glowing oval on Taylor's chest intensified as she breathed in deep. The way everyone was always saying how to do it. In through the nose.

" – someone."

And a white mist billowed out from the mouth.

The roiling cloud touched the blood on the street and gained a reddish tint. The mist solidified quickly. First, it was a silhouette of someone tall and very thin holding something like a staff, or a spear. The details filled in quickly. Loose pale red clothing with dark tribal designs running the hems of its pants and singular sleeve. A triangular winged design dominated the front above a wide sash. Tattoos of a red snake curled up the neck and under the eyes. Pale hair swept up and back. It was partially transparent, with washed out colors and faded form. Like a ghost.

The projection _'[Not a projection.]' _took in its surrounding methodically. The recognition reflex, the tendency for human beings to focus on other people, on faces was missing. Its gaze lingered on the battered mailbox as it barely noticed Tattletale.

_'[Not human. Not a projection.]'_

Not being noticed was good. She didn't want to be noticed. She read the report from Number Man about the thing made of teeth that crashed his party. Just because Taylor made this one didn't mean it was safe.

It didn't _feel _safe.

_'[Not human. Not a projection.]'_

Once it satisfied its curiosity? Caution?

_'[Threat assessment.]'_

Threat assessment, it turned to its creator. Tattletale couldn't tell exactly _what _emotion had appeared on its face just then. The angle was wrong. The shape of the face was wrong. And whatever it had been, it had vanished just as quickly.

It extended a hand. Hesitated. _'[Fear. Caution. Disgust. Relief. Irritation. Fear. Relief. Grief. Relief. Fear.]'_

It closed the gap and settled the hand on Taylor's shoulder.

Nothing happened.

Tattletale let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. "When I said find someone, I meant find someone. That's cheating."

There was no response. She waited until her ass was thoroughly numb and the sirens of the PRT sounded like they were just a block a way. Her window of time had run out. She thought about asking for a Door. Beat it before the redshirts of bureaucracy showed up. She stood up and looked up at the Hebert house.

Danny was still asleep.

Tattletale frowned, already annoyed with herself. "Fuck it," she muttered.

She marched up to the front door and banged as hard as she could. Doorbell was broken. It took a couple more banging before she saw one of the windows light up. About a minute later, the door was opening.

Danny Hebert looked at her with the annoyed confusion of 'Do you know what time it is?' Then looked past her. His mouth dropped open as he threw open the door and brushed past her.

"Taylor? Oh _god. Oh god please."_

When the projection leveled its spear at him, to keep him away, she could hear his confused, desperate attempts to get Taylor's attention. To get a response. To get _something. _It provoked a painful twinge in Tattletale's chest.

Danny Hebert was still yelling at it when the PRT rolled in.

* * *

"Name?" The PRT trooper asked curtly.

"Lisa Wilbourn," Tattletale said with a hint of a grin. Not too much of one, or people would get suspicious. But a small one? People react to uncertainty and fear in different ways, after all.

"Place of residence?"

"Just five houses down." She pointed at the nearest home still being occupied by its owners. The neighbors had cleared out. The neighbors' neighbors had booked it. It was a bald-faced lie, but not one that was going to catch her anytime soon. The PRT could paper push with the best of them and Farseer was right there having a little crisis of her own.

He wasn't going to actually _check._

They blocked the road off with squad cars and their red and blue flashers. They were setting up a police cordon now, and not just to keep out curious bystanders. It was for them with overly generous margins that would place anyone well beyond the reach of that ghostly spear.

"I could see the light, right? And I know the Heberts, that they lived on my street and we didn't go to the same school, but I saw the news." She spoke quickly, as if she was nervous. Worried she'd be in trouble. "I woke Mr. Hebert because, she doesn't look like she's doing okay."

The trooper's head bobbed as he scribbled in the comment box. "You did the right thing, Miss Wilbourn. Don't worry, help is here."

Tattletale nodded, and turned away so he couldn't see her smile turn.

Yeah. Help.

The bullied, isolated teenage girl with super powers.

She wasn't the only one who saw this coming.

" – actually can't, ma'am," one of the troopers by the van was saying into his company issued cellphone. "Literally can't without engaging. Farseer's got some kind of Crusader ghost bodyguard right now. It's not letting anyone close."

_'[Not human. Not a projection.]'_

Tattletale watched it from the trunk of a PRT squad car. Something about it kept drawing her eyes. It was _alien _in a way Taylor wasn't. It didn't respond like it should or move like it should or even feel like it should. It felt like a cold prickle on the skin. Its very existence made her want to shy away. It was like –

It was like looking at Contessa.

_'[Can't win. Can't run.]'_

It was focused on something in the distance. East. Towards India? To New Delhi? Tattletale's ears popped painfully as the air pressure buoyed. The ice on the ground spread further, faster. The projection was shifting. Slight, very slight movements that were nearly swallowed whole by the clothes it was wearing. It was tensing. Conversation among the troopers were petering out. Stopping mid-sentence as everyone's hind brain sat up and started paying attention.

It's fear, Tattletale thought. The projection _'[Not human. Not a projection]' _was triggering a kind of instinctive _fear._

The air hummed.

The projection shook its head, a tiny movement accompanied the small clenching of the pale hand on Taylor's shoulder.

_'[Not yet. Not yet.]'_

"Taylor?" Danny whispered and it carried.

_'[Not yet. Not yet. Not yet.]'_

"Mr. Hebert," Farseer's handler, the only plain clothes officer there, cautiously called out. "You might want to move back. Danny?"

_'[Soon.]'_

"Danny? Mr. Hebert!"

_'[Soon.]'_

_When? _Tattletale thought helplessly. When?

_'[Soon.]' _Was her only answer.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Hubris_**

* * *

I've never been to an Endbringer fight before.

The almost idle thought was jarring, both in the incongruity of tone and the complete absurdity of it. Without powers, what could I have possibly done in an Endbringer fight besides get myself killed? At the same time, it was relevant in a macabre kind of way. Brockton Bay had never been the target of an Endbringer attack. We've never really been close. The closest was probably when Behemoth attacked New York City.

For all of the heroes and capes that showed up to defend the Big Apple, how many powerless people watched the Herokiller Behemoth batter right through the defenses? I saw the aftermath. Still or moving images of all the collapsed buildings, air still choked with concrete dust, rescue teams in white and red lifting rubble. I heard the list of casualties, the damage cost in dollars. There were experts talking about it, how it would impact the economy, how long it would take to recover. Clinical and after the fact.

They don't televise Endbringer fights. I had no doubt there were cameras running somewhere, if only just to look back over to pick apart with analysts. So that next time, maybe, less people would die. Maybe.

Seeing it through visions of the past wasn't the same. Not when I could feel the tremors. Not when people crowded me in the street, passing through me in their panicked, desperate need for safety. Not when I could feel people die.

I forced myself to simply stand still. The ocean that swirled around had a faint acidic tinge to it as it scraped against me. The headphones on my body were still playing the sound of waves crashing against a beach and I listened.

_Think_ more, feel less. So **_think._**

I was being split in several directions. Part of me was still singing, projecting crystal notes to drown out a scream. Part of me was still in front of my house, feeling the silken flow of the ocean in my head move through me. And part of me was here, at a loss for what to do next. Farsight. Was she okay? I didn't want to look. If I hadn't gotten that door open. If she hadn't managed to get out some other way in time. I scanned the skyline for landmarks. There was a ragged gap where the hotel was with dust and smoke beginning to billow up. So she was dead then.

No, damn it. Don't assume.

I forced myself to calm down. I closed my eyes and cast my awareness across the city. The Simurgh's manipulations stood out starkly like blisters oozing pus. Shadows of the futures in store for them flickered like silhouettes. If I looked harder, looked deeper, even the people themselves seemed to physically twist into monsters.

I wrenched my gaze away.

Phir Se was underground, in some kind of bunker watching computer screens showing images of New Delhi. I had to stop. A shadow of a shadow in his fate filling me with dread.

_Don't, _I spoke to him_._

Phir Se controlled his reaction, turning a surprised twitch into an incline of the head. "आवाज़."

_Farseer. Call me Farseer._

His brows drew together as he smiled. "Like my daughter?" He half-asked carefully, not fully convinced he had a good handle on what my name meant.

Like the girl you were just weighing the life of. I could see the pieces. The culmination of years of cause and effect set in motion shaped each and every one of the Simurgh's pawns, including this one. He hadn't started. He likely wouldn't. The Simurgh was known to be precognitive. She could see it coming.

Rationalization. He'd talk himself down this time.

This time.

_Yes, like your daughter. _I found her. I almost burst into tears right then and there out of sheer _relief. _She was alive. How? I seized the thread and ignoring the swell of nausea that rolled through me. I traveled the thread back.

_It fell apart shortly after she escaped the mob into the store. She found the back door, right where it was supposed to be. It was locked. I stopped dead, a pit forming in my stomach. It wasn't supposed to be locked._

_Farsight tried the door, futilely. She looked up sharply as the ground rumbled, rattling the walls and windows. There was no time for her to leave and find another way out. Such a small detail. If I had known, I would have – would have what? She was twelve. I didn't want her to be run into the ground, that was the entire reason I chose this route._

_Move away from the wall, I commanded. I could feel it around me. See through it still, enough to touch minds. That should be enough. I reached out to touch the space in between and pushed._

_The ring of metal as the door abruptly buckled as it tore itself out of the wall drowned out the sound of Farsight's gasp. It did nothing to mask the sound of my scream._

The door.

I – I could affect things. Even here.

_You need to find your daughter, _I told Phir Se distractedly. If I allowed for the pain afterwards, the disconnect. I couldn't rely on it, I knew that. But if I could physically affect even just _one _more thing. A twelve-year-old girl was still alive because of me. There was still a chance!

"Why?"

I turned my attention back to him incredulously. _You mean beside the fact that a twelve-year-old is running around in an Endbringer fight?_

Phir Se waved a hand, as if a fly was bothering him. "She is in the care of others. Wants to be."

I was quiet for a moment.

_You let your wife and son stay dead, so a monster would stay dead with them._

Phir Se tore himself away from the computer screens, shock and fear and anger needling him as he realized I was much more than just a _voice._

_Your daughter is all you have left. And Phir Se? _

I touched his mind and imparted a vision of his _failure_. From the girl's death to Behemoth _surviving, _to the blighted wasteland that used to be India. He rocked back on his heels, mortified.

_The Simurgh let you escape that quarantine._  
I opened my eyes and looked up, scanning the skyline. I took a step and distance blurred as I moved to the top of a building that was still standing. Helicopters with military lines and angles were approaching from the south. A convoy of heavily loaded trucks and vans burned rubber beneath them. Quarantine, I remembered. The sores of the Simurgh's influence infested the city. I could undo them, I thought. Divide and conquer. Bring other people in, get them involved, point out all of the threads spooling themselves.

It would be a waste of time and resources.

Save everyone, just to have the Simurgh tear open that storm in the sky. The threads just _stopped _there. They became muddled, indistinct, as if just by succeeding, the Simurgh introduced hundreds of distinct possibilities that kept shifting and none of what I was seeing made any sense. Images blurred into each other. Sometimes it was just destruction. Other times, _things_ came from the storm. People mutated. They stayed the same. The land warped. It didn't.

Could I stop her from succeeding?

I gazed along the thread to see Behemoth and Leviathan reveal themselves. Behemoth in a plume of lava like an erupting volcano, lightning in the ash cloud as he pulled himself to the surface. Leviathan simply rocketed out the river as he made the rain fall in torrents. Most of the paths lead to that. Push and they would push harder.

Escalate. Reinforcement arriving from other areas. New Delhi was close enough and all three Endbringers at once? Yangban would send a few teams. Russia. Military response, strategies and plans for worst case scenarios triggering.

The Endbringers retaliate. I watched a dozen scenarios of people just…popping as the water exploded out of their bodies. Behemoth flash frying equipment and capes and soldiers from the inside out from miles away. The only one who didn't reveal some unknown capability was the Simurgh. Instead, she just lingered high above the city and watched as her machine assembled. New Delhi was a scene right out of Madison, Luxembourg and all the others. People _missing _something, a small vital piece that just broke them.

In a future that could be, people were harvesting each other for parts the Simurgh could use with smiles on their faces. Even if it had been destroyed, nothing stopped her from building another.

_"Figured something out?" _I could almost hear the Number Man's even, bland voice.

_"They could do more damage. A lot more. They aren't." _I had replied then.

**Son of a bitch.**

All this time. This entire fucking time – for fucking two decades. From the very beginning, they had just been messing with us. Letting us think we had a chance. That we could do something. Oppose them. Fight them. _Anything._

There had to be something.

* * *

"We have to destroy that thing," I overheard Legend say. He was easy to pick out in a crowd wearing a skintight blue costume with white lightning decorating it. The effect was barred a little by the metal band clamped around his neck. His mask covered his eyes leaving wavy brown hair on the top of his head and the rest of his face uncovered as he flew back and forth before an eroded line of defenders. Just patches of people in clumps standing around, not knowing what to do, staring up at the city's broken skyline or watching the angel. Around them other people streamed, people retreating from the fight, rescuers carrying others to the hastily erected medical tents, searchers heading back out with a grim cast to their movements.

Out by the Simurgh people were still fighting. Brutes or people that were just hard to kill like Alexandria were still out there. Stalling? How? Just brute force? Eidolon would still be fighting too, I realized. The Simurgh might be allowing him to stall her.

I hoped so.

Legend's back and forth flight wasn't accomplishing anything, near as I could tell. He was pacing.

_Pull everyone back._

Legend stopped roughly. His head jerked in my direction. Constantly looking ahead seconds at a time was tedious and exhausting. I only needed the broad strokes about what to say, how to respond, but still I knew what he was going to say, even if not the exact words.

_When was the last time you actually stopped the Simurgh from building something?_

It wasn't in Madison. I could tell from the way Legend stiffened slightly and turned just the tiniest of degrees away that I had been right on the money.

"She's using _people_." He spat. I could see the way his face twisted and feel the rage pouring off him. Rage, and more than a little bit of shock he was still reeling from. That shock was echoed in everyone around us. Building things, the angel was known for that. But she didn't fight like her siblings. She had never been the physical threat. This – this was all wrong. I could sympathize. Nothing was going the way I thought it would, the way it should have gone.

_Deprive her of targets._

"What is she doing?" Legend demanded. "What is it?"

I hesitated, but only for a second. _It's to make a storm._

Legend's head rocked back a little, uncertain. "What? Like, a hurricane?"

_No. Like my kind of storm._

The leader of the Protectorate blanched and I smiled humorlessly. No one had told me, not even as a passing reference. They didn't need to tell me. When Director Piggot had let me in to talk to my father and I saw all of the Directors up on that screen? I knew then. Dad couldn't stop thinking about the storms I made. And I didn't need Piggot to spell out what it meant.

"Can you help? With destroying it?"

How to explain just how much of a terrible idea that is? I could hear the other question in his mind. Could I help fight her? I could do it, I thought. The Simurgh couldn't see me. She could only guess based on the results of my actions. I could _copy _her. A lot of little actions at once all across the city at the same time. Drown her perception of me like dozens of pebbles dumped into the puddle, obscuring the pattern. I could do that.

I could bring the Simurgh right back to Brockton Bay.

It wouldn't stop. It would just keep going like some kind of twisted precog battle of attrition. The taste of blood in my mouth told me I would lose that. Unless I found a way to kill an Endbringer, for good, and make it actually _work _when they weren't holding back. With all three of them active? No way in hell.

I lose. That was all I could do. There was no point in lying to myself. My only choices were to lose badly or to lose gracefully. I just –

I just fucking lose. I'd lost from the very beginning, when Leviathan and Behemoth responded. I just hadn't seen it then. I had been too focused on fixing my mistake to see that there was no fixing it.

I triggered an Endbringer attack. I thought the worst case scenario was causing the Simurgh to attack _me. _Brockton Bay. I assumed I could just fix it. Help the heroes fight it off so the city wouldn't be bricked in like Madison. I could do something not even Eidolon could, after all.

I'd never been to an Endbringer fight before.

I turned and pointed at a TV tower in the distance to the northwest. It was a long, slim structure with what looked a lot like a toy top crowning it.

_Behemoth is a mile underneath that. _That was a guess. He was under the city. I knew that for sure. I also knew that a concrete figure sounded better, made things more real. No one was going to say I was wrong, he was actually a kilometer to the left. _Leviathan is in the river._

The blood drained from Legend's face.

"They're all here. All of them."

_Yes._

"Why – why haven't they…?"

_They only show themselves if we start winning. _I let that hang in the air for a bit. _Please call everyone back. We need a plan._

"Not everyone," Legend said slowly. He held up a hand before I could protest. "Pulling everyone? Too obvious we're up to something." He held the black band on his right wrist up to his mouth. "Dragon, you copy?"

It wouldn't make a difference. She can see you anyway, I thought. I didn't voice it.

"I hear you, Legend," Dragon's voice came out of the tiny speaker a few seconds later.

"Sitrep on Behemoth and Leviathan."

I could feel my eyebrow inch up into an unimpressed arch. Really? He opts for a second opinion when there are earthquakes and it had suddenly started raining?

Dragon didn't answer for a bit before admitting, "I've lost track of them." Legend gave me this vaguely apologetic look. "There were some tremors in South America near Behemoth's last known location shortly after the situation in Brockton Bay."

"Leviathan?"

"Went through _rivers."_

And that was significant for some reason? It only took me a moment to get it. Leviathan was the classic sea monster. Emphasis on sea. He attacked coastal cities and ports. Rivers greatly expanded his range of potential targets, and it was something he just didn't do much of before. He could. As a hydrokinetic, everyone knew he could. He even made a dry trek once in over ten years. But that was before the Simurgh. He had a pattern everyone thought they knew. They were breaking all kinds of conventions today.

That sent a shiver of fear through me. What if they broke one more? What if they just didn't allow themselves to be driven off this time? At all? The Simurgh had been setting India up to be irradiated by a parahuman.

What if she settled for 'good enough' and had it irradiated by _Behemoth?_

I felt sick.

"Why didn't we hear about this before?" Legend asked.

"The Simurgh was singing over Brockton Bay," Dragon said flatly. "Barring an actual sighting, one took precedence over the rest." The rest could be covered later. Afterwards. It was the same reason why I didn't just blurt out that all three Endbringers were at New Delhi when I contacted Eidolon and spoke to Alexandria. Good to know I could at least judge something correctly.

It made me wonder though. Could the Simurgh see Dragon? It wasn't like it was with Eidolon. I could _see _how the Endbringer reacted to him.

Like she was holding him out at arm's length. Avoidant. A jarring difference, when you considered that everyone else she countered, manipulated, twisted. They danced to her tune. Eidolon made her dance to his.

I couldn't see Dragon.

_Can Dragon head the distraction effort then? Organize the token resistance and keep an eye on the situation. _Legend nodded. There was an awkward silence as we kind of just stood there looking at each other. _Dragon can't hear me, by the way._

"Ah." He relayed the request to Dragon. It was more or less what she'd been doing anyway apparently. Good to know. "Tell Alex and Eidolon to get back to base. If they need a reason, tell them Behemoth and Leviathan are here."

_"What?"_

"I know." Legend sighed, passing his free hand over his face and squishing his chin for a bit before he let his hand drop. "Tell them. Legend out." The hero looked down at the people milling about, waiting for new direction. "Let me handle things here for a bit. Could you wait in that tent over there?" He pointed. I looked and nodded. He smiled a little. "We'll get through this. We always do."

Because the Endbringers let us. False security, I thought.

False hope.

* * *

_"Where are they?" _Eidolon hissed the moment he entered the tent. His dark cape billowed weakly behind him where Alexandria trailed quietly.

"Eidolon," she said. He simmered, but gave a small, grudging nod before he took a deep breath, willing himself to calm. The Triumvirate couldn't be more different from each other. Legend was dressed to be inspiring. It was in his color choice and how he left some of his face and features be exposed. It was enough to emphasize him as a person.

Eidolon was dressed like his namesake. His face was completely covered and yet was still shrouded in the eerie green light that shone from underneath his hood. He had a cape that instead of looking heroic, it engulfed him along with sleeves that hid his hands from view with the same green light. He didn't look approachable. Instead, he looked a bit dangerous.

Alexandria was a clash of concepts. Her iconic costume with knee high boots and skirt was designed to look good. Feminine without being overbearing about it. Classy, including her off center cape clasped with a silver pin that naturally bunched itself about her shoulders and steel helmet. It was a look designed for tasteful colors in the darker range. Reds, blues, greens, purple.

She chose black. Black and grey. The effect seemed to crush everything that might have stood out in her costume to a uniform look. The only thing that caught the eye was the tower symbol on her chest. Unlike Legend and Eidolon, it was as if she didn't want to be noticed.

The tent we were in was already cramped. Supplies had just been dumped here with little rhyme or reason. There were piles of blankets in one corner on top of crates marked with symbols. There were waterproof backpacks and bags thrown on top of each other. Sweats and coats on the floor, kicked to the side. There was a small generator in the corner by the tent flap, cords dripping down to the floor where they ran along the ground out the door. An electric lantern hung from a hook at the top of the tent. Having four people in it nearly obliterated the remaining space.

"Where were they sighted?" Eidolon asked in a more reasonable tone.

Legend answered for me. "Leviathan is in the Yamuna. Behemoth is about a mile below us."

"Tremors aren't caused _by_ building instability, they _are_ causing the instability," Alexandria connected the dots instantly. Mixed in with genuine shakes caused by buildings collapsing from their supports giving out thanks to the Simurgh's redirected attacks, I could see no one looking too closely at the ground under their feet. Not with something like the Simurgh right out in the open. "And this rain…"

"Yes," Legend said. "They are holding back, for now. That could change at any moment."

"How should we do this?" Eidolon asked, crossing his arms across his chest. "Split into three, one each division. Alex, Simurgh. Legend, Leviathan. Me, Behemoth."

I couldn't stay quiet anymore. _Do you really think you'll win? Against all of them at once?_

"It's not about winning," Alexandria stated and it was with this tone of certainty that gave me the impression that she'd already discarded 'winning' as an outcome.

... I was actually in a tent with the Triumvirate. Holy fu – focus.

_Good, _I said. _Because that is exactly why they are here. To make sure we don't win this._

I could see Alexandria's eyes narrow slightly behind her helmet. "What is that win condition?"

I didn't know the exact details. I could only tell them a handful of specifics. That we prevented her from completing her project that would tear a storm into the sky. That her plans in New Delhi were unraveled to the point where she couldn't just set the same dominoes up to fall the same way anymore. If my interference meant she couldn't defend herself effectively. If I moved from New Delhi, snapping threads of altered fate somewhere else so she could force me to concentrate here. Or just scorched earth.

If if if _if if if **if IF!**_

_That the Simurgh considers the situation unsalvageable. _

Eidolon started. "Wha – "

Alexandria cut him off. "What was her goal? Why is she here?"

I knew what I had to say. If not now, then eventually. The Simurgh had started singing over Brockton Bay. It really didn't make it any easier to focus on the words to transmit.

_Phir Se is a local thanda cape. At the next Endbringer attack, in the process of trying to defeat it he will irradiate the Indian subcontinent. _Legend's eyebrows jumped even as Eidolon shifted uneasily. _A few million dead. A few hundred million more over the long term. I tried to change that._

Eidolon sucked in a breath. "You can see Simurgh victims?"

_Not just see. See what she wants them to do._

"This is because of _you_." Alexandria said. The accusation rang sharp in her voice. I could even _feel _it like her words had launched a barb into my stomach. She wasn't wrong. "She attacked _early - "_

I snorted loudly to cover up how shaken I was. _Please. So you have two more weeks and no better prepared - _

"You can see the Endbringers," Legend said. His proud bearing wasn't so proud anymore, more tired. He rubbed at his forehead. "We _could have_ been."

**_Let me finish. _**I had to take a moment to vent my emotions into the shifting ocean. It was getting hard to think. Stifling. The threads of future possibilities didn't feel like spider webs anymore. Rather, more like strands of glass. Grabbing too hard, too long, was starting to _burn._Frustration, rage boiled out of my head along with the burning sting of anxiety, desperation. We didn't have a lot of choices. I couldn't see anymore. If I could make them _understand _that.

_Let me put this into perspective for you, _I began. _The Simurgh's scream is not a physical sound. You don't hear it with your ears. She's letting you hear it. Her precognitive ability is directly tied to it. The longer she screams, the further it travels. I've seen it in action in Brockton Bay._

"She was searching." Alexandria said blandly. Eidolon shifted his weight and glanced at the tent door. "For you. Didn't learn the first time?"

What? Oh, the teeth monster. I almost laughed out loud. If I had learned my lesson there, I wouldn't be here to fix this. The irony.

_So you wanted me to just ignore a few hundred million deaths, and say you're a hero?_

"Don't put my words in my mouth. You think heroics means acting _blindly_?"

"Alexandria," Eidolon said. She stopped. The three of them looked at each other. Legend frowning even as Eidolon stepped forward. Alexandria, for a moment seemed like she wanted to step forward as well. Legend's eyes flicked over to me. Through her helmet, Alexandria's dark eyes met mine for a moment, then she looked away and backed down.

"Rules, restrictions, guidelines. We have these for a reason."

Something about the way the light from the lantern above us hit her eyes hadn't looked right.

_You're not getting it. The longer she screams, the further it travels, the further she **sees.** Do you know what she's doing the entire time she's up in the atmosphere? _No one answered. _Do you know what she's doing up there undisturbed for months on end?_

Looking over the world. I shoved the memory of that picture Costa-Brown had showed me that first night when I emerged from my locker into her head. Of the angel in high atmosphere, the curve of the earth visible behind her.

_She's screaming. _The silence, this time, it rung. _Everything up to now. Everything. I – we, we lose. I lose. We've been doing nothing but losing. Here and now? That doesn't change._

As long as I played by her rules, she wouldn't flip the goddamn table.

Legend turned away. One arm crossed his chest as the other cradled his chin as he thought. Alexandria flexed her fingers, once. Then she looked over at Eidolon.

"She wins then," the man said.

That was it. The opening. I let myself smile a little.

_I didn't say the Simurgh** wins**, did I? I just said I lose._

A flicker of ironic amusement came from Alexandria. "Let's hear it."

_Scion._

Eidolon's head rocked back almost imperceptibly, but I caught the movement. He was inexplicably stung. He expected me to offer someone else as our way out of this? Him?

The harlequin in the masque, I thought. It was a strange recollection. No, it wasn't going to be Eidolon this time.

"You know what he is," Alexandria said slowly. Did the Chief Director tell her? I almost frowned. Alexandria was the head of the Los Angeles Protectorate, the same city Watchdog was headquartered. How many people knew Scion wasn't what he seemed?

_What, dangerous?_

Not an ounce of surprise from Eidolon. How deep did _that_ rabbit hole go?

"We don't know where he is," Legend said as the voice of reason. "We can't contact him. We can barely speak to him."

Eidolon took a different approach. "How would you get him here?"

_Incentive. All we have to do is give the Simurgh exactly what she wants._

I spread out my hands, palms up.

_A storm._

* * *

This was the plan.

Aircraft, weather balloons, drones, low orbit satellites, flyers. Anything and everyone in the air was at risk. Airspace had to be as clear as possible over New Delhi, or rather over India, as quickly as possible. Mid-sentence, Legend bolted from the tent in a flash of yellow before Alexandria could even twitch in that direction. Within the next thirty seconds, the leader of the Protectorate would receive the provisional authority to order aircraft to make emergency landings from India's government.

"That should have been your first priority." Alexandria's voice was clipped. "As soon as you realized what the Simurgh was planning."

I vented a bit of my frustration into the ocean. _It was. Who is flying near a city the Simurgh is attacking?_

"And the rest are only a concern if your plan gets the green light." Eidolon came to my defense. "Otherwise, it would just invite widespread confusion."

And possibly alert the Simurgh that we knew something she didn't.

_Low end estimate, fifteen minutes to storm event horizon. On the high end, twenty-five to thirty. _Even as I said it, I knew that wasn't a huge variance in time. It didn't give anyone much time to do much of anything at all. If I could have figured out the Simurgh's plan sooner, seen more then maybe. But I didn't, so I had to make do with what I had. If Alexandria was going to keep getting on my case for could have's, should have's, would have's?

I was just going to stop telling her things she didn't absolutely need to know. It was not helping.

I guess all it really took for the shine of hero worship to fade was said hero going out of their way to be an ass.

_You are still affected by power granting effects, right? _I asked Eidolon. I was reasonably sure he was, but there were some irregularities. I would rather ask now and get confirmation, then assume that was the case and be disappointed later.

He nodded curtly. I could feel his emotions buoying slightly in anticipation.

_The amount of time we have is dependent on how much **you** can give the Simurgh a run for her money._

"Just me?" He clarified.

I didn't need to see his face to know there was a small smile on it.

_You have been singlehandedly credited with driving off the Endbringers over twelve times, and integral to joint efforts of at least ten more._

"Endbringers that have been purposely holding back," said Alexandria, as if it was her personal duty to hold a pin to Eidolon's ego.

I don't idly flatter people.

_Endbringers that have in every single appearance, since Behemoth's debut in Iran, tailored their responses to Eidolon specifically._

It took a moment to sink in.

"Why…" Eidolon shifted as he warred with the impulse to reach for a Thinker power.

Alexandria's eyes widened slightly before the thinning of her lips told me that she had decided against commenting. Legend would not have been so reserved. The tangent might not have lasted long, but it would raise more questions than answers right now with an equal chance of me coming across like I always knew more than I was telling. Which was true, but in a way that left a bad, untrustworthy impression. That was why he was not here. I was telepathic. When it came down to it, I could have done what he was doing now and probably faster too. I didn't need a radio.

Not significantly faster. Whatever time I saved speaking to pilots directly would have been lost negotiating why a complete unknown was ordering people out of the sky.

_The Simurgh can't see you._

"You're certain about that?" Alexandria said with a sharp inhale.

_Very. The nature of his powers obscures him from her precognition. But… _I paused just to make sure my words had extra impact. _I think she has postcognition as well. And you didn't always have powers._

Both members of the Triumvirate tensed in their own way.

I get it. I really did. No one would like the idea that the fucking Simurgh was looking into the worst day of your life.

_She has a good idea of how you think, how you would react, how you would prioritize. So if we want to throw her off as much as possible?_

"I need to change things up," Eidolon said with another curt nod. "Instead of my own power, use the powers of other Trumps?"

_Use your own powers too, but change them as frequently as you can. That would be the exact opposite of how you usually operate._

"If she can't see you, then that changes everything – "

"I know." Eidolon shifted his hands in the long sleeves of his costume. "I can…avoid engaging head on, focus on running interference. Hit hard, hit fast, relocate." I could see his personal future shifting as he prepared to alter the powers he had. "Should I try to destroy the device?"

I bit my lip. Or the projection of my lip.

_You can try. She will make another. _I didn't need to say 'and kill more people to do it.' _We do not gain much from stalling too long._

We gained nothing at all. New Delhi had already been condemned for quarantine. There were very few ways to come back from that and every path needed influence, experience and _time _that I just didn't have. All it would do is increase the chance of Leviathan and Behemoth interfering.

Eidolon and Alexandria exchanged looks.

"Organize the brutes," Eidolon said.

"Gathering the Trumps and Tinkers?" Alexandria asked without an expecting an answer.

Eidolon inclined his head slightly before turning to me. "She can't see you either, can she?"

I smiled humorlessly. _If she's just pretending she can't, we're fucked. _I rushed my next words to preempt Alexandria. _The Endbringers are not human. They don't think like humans. They don't feel like humans. I can see in broad strokes what they are doing. I am missing half the input that would tell me **why.**_

"But can you contribute?" Eidolon pressed. "The more advantages we have – "

_We what? _I cut him off. _Win?_

He winced. "Regardless, if we can make this as…smooth and painless as possible, with as few casualties as we can manage, I'll take it."

Beyond this point, until the storm, I was functionally useless. I could talk to people, but that was redundant. Radios, personal communication systems covered that niche well enough already. My precognition was only getting more and more muddled the closer to the storm we came, and worse, looking _hurt. _I couldn't see any more. I had only one shot at physically using my powers. I wasn't about to tell anyone how much that one effort was going to cost me either.

Even I wasn't sure. I couldn't dwell on it.

I smiled anyway.

_I'll do what I can._

I could feel him smile back, and in the next instant, teleported away.

I stopped Alexandria just outside the tent. _Look, there's something I need to –_

She cut me off. "Do nothing."

I didn't quite snarl. _What is your problem with me? What do you want from me? Do you want a press release where I can say I'm sorry? I'll do it._

That was a lie.

Admitting something like that to the world at large would make a pariah. Forget high school drama and politics, being alienated at Winslow High would be nothing like not being welcome _anywhere. _The amount of good I could do with my powers might as well be tossed out the back door. The only people that wouldn't distrust anything I said or did would be Endbringer worshippers, and they were not people anyone in their right mind would associate with.

If that was what Alexandria wanted, to just _take _being a hero away from me just so people knew who to _hate_, wouldn't I be morally obligated to not do something so counterproductive?

"I don't have a problem with you."

_Try again._

The woman shrugged. "The feeling is temporary. This entire situation is…frustrating and could have been handled better." She held up a hand to stop me from interjecting. "There are very few situations you can't say that of. I can get over it."

She was telling the truth, or what she thought was the truth. That sapped enough of my ire to let me take a step back.

_Is this where you try to convince me you were just playing Devil's Advocate back there?_

I could see her raise an eyebrow through the dark faceplate of her helmet. "Disagreeing with you doesn't make me an enemy."

_I know that._

Alexandria made a considering noise before dropping the subject. "By how much does your involvement make it more likely the other Endbringers respond?"

That was a leading question.

_It is just as likely they don't respond at all._

"Uncertain then," she said, picking up on my word choice. At this rate, this woman was going to make me prejudiced against working with other Thinkers. I could tell Alexandria was thinking over her words carefully. Not in the way she usually picked out the words she was going to say, but deliberately attempting to craft a message of some kind.

"If there is one thing I've learned, it's that chasing the small percentage of _might, could, _or _maybe_ will result in a lot of failures. You will often make things worse."

This was coming from someone who couldn't see just how desolated India would have become. She didn't know exactly how many lives were ruined, how many families were going to break with the quarantine, how many people were going to just fall apart under the stress. Alexandria couldn't feel the sudden _emptiness _left behind when people died.

_You should tell me more of what you've learned later,_ _and how relevant it is, _I said. _Or we can start with why Scion doesn't like you._

Alexandria stilled. "Will that be a problem?"

_I…don't know. I don't think so._

"You don't _think _so?" She just about hissed.

I hated this. I hated the uncertainty. I hated the uneasiness that was churning in my stomach. I hated the sick, acid tinge poisoning the ocean around me. I hated seeing the Simurgh. I hated this rain. I hated not seeing. I hated not knowing. I was dreading having to just sit here and _wait _for the Hail Mary.

I hated losing.

_World ending? No. Our collateral disaster cap is irradiated India. There is a lot of room for error. _In the future, it might be. When? I couldn't say. Not now. _But if he's agitated? Give him space._

For a moment, the darkly dressed heroine didn't say anything. "You sound like you won't be there."

_"And if the Protectorate can't or won't stop you," _I heard from the piece of me still at home. _"Then you **will.**"_

_The storm is our best bet, _I said instead. _And it's not safe. You will know as soon as it happens. I'm not saying it will happen, alright, but if it does?_

If it does, then there was something very _wrong _with my powers.

_Focus on the big one first._


	12. Chapter 12

**_In Aeturnum_**

* * *

"फिर से बोलो?" Ryan said.

He stared at her blankly for a moment, then started to turn towards Manvir before he caught himself.

"Avni. Say that again?" He half-asked with his voice rising in pitch near the end, making it sound more like a petulant demand.

"I'm not leaving," Avni Singh, the girl called Farsight repeated.

Her team was gathered underneath the dubious shelter of a parking garage. It still shuddered with the trembling ground, dripping bits of concrete that clack-clacked onto the ground amid bursts of grinding from deeper in the complex. Grinding from load bearing pillars straining, grinding from the steel cores around elevators and steel I-Beams in the ceiling. A continuous reminder that New Delhi was falling apart around them.

Ryan obsessively ran a hand through his thick dark hair every time rubble shook loose, making it clump into wet wavy lines. His synthetic gem encrusted robes had a large gash running down the shoulder. The hems and his shoes were muddy. Seeing that made some tiny, hidden part of her cringe. The part that used to gush about his perfectly styled hair, elaborate earrings and half-crown that made him look like a modern-day Mughal prince.

Talk shows loved him. Advertising, tours around India casting fantastical illusions in front of cheering crowds, even a few Bollywood movies where he could use his abilities among career actors. He played the good prince, generous, thoughtful and larger than life.

Off camera, he was a very different person. It had taken her an embarrassingly long time to realize that.

"Don't be stupid," the reedy voice of their strategist, Behar, cut in. She didn't even turn from her vigil by the garage's exit, staring out into the downpour. All of them had gotten caught in the heavy rain. Her bra and underwear were showing up under her wet, translucent blue silks, but the Kurdish model showed no sign of caring.

Avni wished she could be that confident. "I'm not being stupid."

"Wanting to stay in an angel-visited city that will be tied with a tourniquet and cut off like a rotting limb is the definition of stupid," she countered. Her dark hair splotched with the white locks grown over surgery scars was plastered to her scalp and neck. When Avni looked, she could see the blue eyes narrowed in contempt reflected off individual rain drops. In an interview last year, Raşit said the Aryan princess to Ryan's prince was the mother of the group.

The Turkmen was their civilian face. He was very good at lying with the truth.

Behar didn't mother anyone.

"Never mind that," Ryan said. "I'm responsible for you. If you stay, your father will kill me." He said it like it was a self-evident truth, the way one would say the sky was blue and the sun was out.

Avni could not say he was wrong.

"It's been too long," Manvir's deep rumble was like hearing a mountain speak. He hid half of his face underneath a dark visor. He was very tall, usually in dark armor-plated clothing that had wiry connections snaking up his neck to the visor. He was the oldest, and his stature made him hard to ignore. He went with it, openly flaunting the garam spectacle and scene of India.

"We should have left already," Behar said, tapping a pattern on the pillar beside her. The concrete rippled like water.

"Not us," Manvir was still looking straight at her. The unofficial leader of the group never rushed things. He was meticulous and pragmatic. It was his best quality, he didn't dismiss her like the others. She had a power, and he treated her like she did. It was also his worst quality. He marketed them. Illusion shows for Ryan, modeling contracts for Behar, work for the team.

Sometimes Behar's contracts were private donors and sometimes she came back with bruises. The illusion tours were loud, raucous events no one would ever remember clearly. Exhaustion, illness and injuries, some property damage and maybe a death only the local paper would report? That was just what crowded concerts were like.

Ryan's illusions weren't harmless.

He had her learn how to lip read and memorize codes and passwords. Some nights she spent staring into office buildings and reporting what she saw. Phir Sē knew Ryan and Manvir, and she was her father's daughter. She didn't ask.

"The Simurgh," he said. "It's been too long."

Avni bit her lip. "Yeah."

"Why does that even matt – " Manvir turned his head and Ryan went quiet.

"You are needed?" The Punjab giant rumbled. At her nod, his lips twitched into a smile. A knot in her stomach eased. If he wanted to, Manvir could easily stop her. He could order the others, or draw his gun and march her out of the city. But he never did anything like that before, not with Behar or Ryan or her. She felt a little ashamed she thought he would this time.

"What do we tell Phir Sē?" Ryan asked, voice tight and high. "What do we tell him? Avni wanted to stay and we let – " A thought occurred to him and he whipped his head around towards her. "How close did you get to Simurgh?" He demanded.

"It makes no difference," Manvir answered for her. "She's staying." He subvocalized something into the microphone piece hanging down from his visor, then nodded. "I expect to hear about you then."

That was a saying older than she was. It was an invitation, of a sort. It meant they hoped you were someone worth hearing about. Declaring an expectation to hear something, it was almost like wishing someone good luck.

"The sun won't shine on New Delhi after tonight," Behar murmured, still looking out into the rain. "I hope we don't."

* * *

Behar was the only one still standing with her, looking out into the never-ending deluge of rain. The storm clouds were ominously dark and eerily silent. No lightning, no thunder. The floor of the garage was already flooded in water up to her ankles, so she sat on the hood of an abandoned car. Or as good as abandoned. The back of the sedan was crushed underneath a large chunk of concrete and steel.

"Why are you staying?" Avni asked as she spun her iron bracelet around her wrist.

"I am not staying," Behar said with a small scoff as she leaned against a crumbling concrete pillar, looking out as if she was counting the rain drops. If Avni was a camera, then Behar would remember to look at her when speaking. "I am simply not leaving yet."

"Stay too long and you'll be trapped here too," Avni tried hard to say it lightly. She would worry about the quarantine after.

This time Behar barked out a laugh. "You know me, _bahana. _As if I would be trapped anywhere I did not want to be!"

Avni smiled tightly. Sometimes, that slipped out. 'Bahan.' Sister. They were not sisters off camera, but sometimes that was hard to remember. There were more ways to trap people than just physically, Avni knew. Her father could rewind time itself, but he was stuck in that one minute, five years ago. Maybe even forever.

"You just want to tell me the plan is stupid."

Behar snorted. "If you are worried about that, then maybe the plan is stupid."

"I don't actually know the plan," Avni admitted cheerfully and watched her 'older sister' blink dumbly.

"Truly?"

"Mhm."

The Kurd took a moment to digest this. "I refuse to believe you are that stupid."

Avni kicked her feet and laughed weakly. There wasn't an easy way to explain faith. Not to Behar, she had already tried to explain why she wore her iron bracelet and the wooden comb in her hair. It wasn't something made of logic, or science, and it was barely tangible. It would be hard to explain her sense of …karmic debt. That she had a duty, and was morally obligated to fulfill that duty to the best of her abilities. Behar would say that was stupid. She would say that Avni can do a lot more good by being able to do it, and not locked away behind a wall. But it wasn't about making that kind of pragmatic calculation. It was about walking every step of that path, not just taking the convenient ones.

Her father would say she was being stupid too. Because he didn't believe anymore.

A blur of shadow streaking through the air outside towards them caught Avni's attention. She had enough time to slide off the car and open her mouth to warn Behar, when the street shattered. Avni choked on the warning. The blur was a person, a woman and when she stood up the symbol of a tower was on her chest.

"I'm looking for far sight," Alexandria said in passable Hindi. Through the darkly translucent pane of her helmet, Avni could pick out the false eye by the faint scarring.

That wasn't her name, but it was the literal translation of what the ghostly girl had called her. Avni stepped forward and squeezed a faint, "Me" from her throat.

Ghost girl had just gone up a few categories in her mind, and it wasn't like she started out _low _either.

Alexandria's eyes swept over her quickly, before shifting to the right. "And this is?"

Behar introduced herself simply. "Behar."

Avni smothered a smile. Yeah, she wouldn't have wanted to tell Alexandria to call her the Princess of Space either.

One of the most powerful women in the world, leader of a team in Los Angeles, California, nearly everyone had heard of her. The Protectorate of America had been what the Garama had imitated, in their own way. The flashy costumes, the public relations and ties to the government, just with authentic mirchi and filmi dance numbers right out of nowhere.

India wasn't alone in taking after the Americans. It was an almost universal truth. People with powers were commodities. They were force multipliers. They were highly visible. Having these gifts, using them, was an easy way to get attention, and with attention came money. With money, came influence.

That was what the costumes and uniforms were for. That was what the shows and movies and ads and silly, catchy names and color palettes were for. She could follow the noise and spectacle of those with powers around the world. _Heroes. _The _sentai _teams of Japan and individual stars such as Masamune. The state teams under Mushin in Korea. The Guild. Die Heilige Truppe. She knew the names and costumes of people from Mexico and Egypt and Australia and Russia. She knew what they believed in, what causes they fought for, who they were. Or who they wanted people to think they were.

The morally corrupt played the game too. The Nuqi. The Red Gauntlet. Moord Nag. Gesellschaft. The Yàngbăn.

On the international level, Alexandria was an aberration.

Her clothes might have worked in the spotlight, but they were a monochrome dark grey to make it as drab as possible. She let people see her face, but her helmet was dark enough to just suggest the contours and shape of it. Her dark eyes stared out from the gloom. She was on TV, but it was only when she had to be. The only cause she championed was that of her government's. Avni didn't know what the heroine's favorite movie was, like she knew Legend's. She didn't know what her favorite animal was or why, like she knew El Negro Gato's. Favorite food? Did she have any family? What made Alexandria laugh? Cry?

Hero had been philosophical and playful. Legend was bright and inspiring. Eidolon was fearsome and mysterious.

Alexandria was.

Avni didn't understand it.

"_C4, you have six minutes. Be prepared to disengage, C4_," Dragon said in a tinny, granulated tone that was half lost beneath the steady pitter patter of rain. Avni knew it was Dragon though, she'd recognize the voice anywhere.

_"D4, standby for relief, six minutes. C5, you have thirteen minutes. Heightened alert. D6, you have two minutes, get out now. I repeat, D2, get out. Fail safes will activate in two minutes!"_

Alexandria shifted from one foot to the other. "Dragon," she said. "_Mute announcements on my end_."

Dragon said something curtly that she didn't quite understand. It must have been either an acknowledgment or an explanation, because neither said anything more.

She wished she was better at English.

Behar understood though. "Which group are you?"

"None," Alexandria replied. Her dark eyes stared out from the gloom of her helmet like she was trying to see through Avni. "What is your power?"

"I can…" Habit made her glance in Behar's direction. Everyone knew दूरनज़र had the gift of sight. Standing on one side of a field as over 25, 50, 100 meters away someone held up randomized cards written in the smallest size for her to read for the cameras. They told very few people exactly how far, exactly how light or dark, exactly how _deep, _exactly how small or even exactly how fast.

"This is your choice, Avni," Behar murmured. "You don't need your hand held. Do what you want."

"I can see down to cells and up to the surface of the moon," Avni admitted. She'd been able to see much farther, much smaller and much faster than nearly everyone alive for three years now. Others would say that it was a gift to be able to be so much more than a normal person. Thirty years ago, they used to say that it was a blessing. That it was proof that she had been devout enough, righteous enough, sacrificed enough. That she had _suffered _enough.

It had not taken very long for people to stop saying such things.

Alexandria frowned. Frowned and closed her eyes with her head tilted back a little as if she was having a headache.

_"__This _would be a good time to explain _why _we need someone with sight powers," she said in English. Behar coughed once. Avni stepped out into the deluge as a small gesture of defiance, even as her stomach froze and scrunched into a little ball. The rain drenched her immediately. The cold water finding its way down her collar and plastering her hair to her head just made her feel worse. Like she was being foolish, and silly, and should just go back inside to where she was protected.

Do nothing.

And maybe that had been some of it too. Wanting to not just _see, _but to _do something. _

She should have known. Isn't it what Ryan had been saying since she joined the team? 'You're just a girl Avni. You worry too much, Avni. What can you do, Avni? Leave it to others. You need to be safe, Avni. What would your father say?'

At the end of the day, she was just a thirteen year old girl that could see really well.

_And that is exactly why I need you._

A cold feeling settled into her head, like there was ice dripping down the inside of her skull. The faint snatches of the haunting melody she heard further into the city faded in. It was different from the Simurgh's wail. Softer. Stranger. Beautiful in its own way, and terrifying in the way that it _clung._ She knew Behar could hear it too, by the way she stiffened, eyes going wide. A dead street light beside the garage came alive with white sparks hissing into the rain. And beneath it, the one called Farseer walked into existence.

_I need you to be my eyes, _she said as her own luminous green orbs burned with energy above twin blood red grooves etched into her face. As she moved forward, the centimeters of water covering the street parted, as if physically repelled by her presence. Every raindrop that would have touched her, burst into steam.

A crimson tabard alive and writhing with glowing designs lay over close fitting armor the color of a full moon. In the center of her chest, the stylized design of an eye glared out at the world.

Looking at it, at _her,_ _stung._

Avni stifled the cry as she wrenched her watering eyes away and rubbed at them. She blinked them open a few times and everything was vague. _Blurry. _It was as if she had stared directly into the sun and had gotten punished for it.

_Close your eyes, _Farseer whispered in her head. Avni squeezed them shut as hard as she could. There was a touch, like a breeze over her eyelids. The pain faded. _Sorry about that._

Everything was clear again when she opened her eyes. She could see the water sloshing about her feet. She could see the small organisms in it, particles of debris and plastic. She dragged her eyes up. Behar was staring, face pale as if she'd seen a monster.

She walked to the edge of the garage's broken ceiling, a step between falling rain and falling rubble. If she reached, she could put a hand on Avni's shoulder and pull her back.

"_What are you_?"

Maybe Behar wasn't as good at English as she thought. Even Avni knew that the correct word was 'who.'

In her peripheral vision, Farseer inclined her head. _You may call me Farseer._

"_Why_ are we here?" Alexandria cut in, impatient.

Farseer's expression shifted to something partly amused, but mostly wry. _If I had Clairvoyant, we wouldn't be._

Alexandria froze for a split second.

_So instead, I'll take the next best thing._

"…You can see more than them," the heroine said, but without any heat. She sounded more cautious. Wary.

_Yes, _Farseer allowed. _But with a lot more effort. Everything I'm doing takes effort. I'm not physically here, and that's making everything a fuck ton more difficult._

Avni's eyebrows rose. Not physically here? How was that possible? She could _see _the cellular makeup of the black under suit Farseer was wearing under her armor, the threads of what looked something like artificial muscle fibers but _strange. _She could see the thousands upon thousands of tiny channels in the armor. Every fiber of the red thread. She could see the _blood cells _she was bleeding.

"How much would our options have changed if you were physically present?" Alexandria demanded. "Better?"

Farseer sighed. _We'd have more options. And so would she. _Then she raised a hand to the bridge of her nose. _And then there is what Legend is going to tell you in two seconds._

Avni silently counted to two. And right on time, there was a granulated beep from Alexandria. The woman raised a hand to the dark metal band clamped around her neck.

"Legend?"

"We've got Yàngbăn," Legend said after a short pause. Avni imagined he looked similar to how he did on the TV with a bright smile and easy laugh. He didn't quite sound like how he did on the TV. There was no smile in his voice now. The Yàngbăn were not something to smile about. "Two suicide strike teams."

That was a word she knew. Avni caught Behar's eye. 'Suicide?' she mouthed. 'Why?'

And she bent down a little, to be closer to Avni's ear. "Because of the angel," she whispered. "The Chinese do not take chances."

"They are after someone they expect will be extraordinarily difficult to subdue." Alexandria slightly turned away from them. "That, or difficult to get to. Brutes, thinkers, tinkers, shakers. On the higher end, 7 and up."

"Too much to hope that they're here to help, huh?" Legend grumbled something. "One could be a decoy while the other extracts, someone well known or well connected."

Alexandria's head shook. "The CUI do not have the Yàngbăn to waste."

And Avni knew, the CUI does not act in good faith.

Alexandria turned back just enough to look at Farseer out the corner of her eye. As if responding to some unasked question, or hidden thought, Farseer nodded.

"Dragon, can we get a surveillance on the Yàngbăn?"

"Yes," the answer came back instantly. "I have already begun moving some u -u-u-uni-i-i-i – " A loud electronic squeal assaulted Avni's eardrums. Everyone but Farseer flinched, before Alexandria pinched the band between two fingers and tore it off. It fell silent.

_Something happened to Dragon, _Farseer guessed.

Alexandria finished crushing the metal into a little ball and tossed it into the garage behind them. It rolled under a car. "Seems like it."

_We don't need this, _Farseer muttered, both hands rubbing at her temples. _Alright, fine, I'll handle communication._

"For everyone?" Alexandria asked skeptically.

_No, just for who needs it._

"Which is everyone."

Farseer looked at Alexandria then. _No, because Farsight here is going to be seeing for all of us._

Seeing, for everyone? She had a hard time wrapping her mind around what Farseer intended for her to do. Behar's thin fingers twisted around some of the loose silk of her clothes. "What am I seeing? What am I looking for?"

_"__Why?" _Alexandria demanded.

Farseer simply smiled a small, secretive smile.

_Right, so. I figured out how to share my precognition. With everyone._

For a long moment, Alexandria said nothing. Then she closed her eyes. "Now? You figured out how to share…your precognition, with everyone?"

_Yes._

"Just now?"

_About three minutes ago, yes. _The American teenage girl with long, dark hair and long ears shrugged one shoulder. _Before you ask, yes, I had a plan five minutes ago. Yes, I needed her for a similar-ish reason. This plan is better. _There was a shift in the burning green orbs, as if she had looked to the side. _Someone gave me the idea and I'm going to abuse the shit out it._

Behar tugged lightly on the cloth she held. "Well Avni," she murmured. "Seems this plan of yours might not be completely stupid, after all."

Avni smiled. Her smile only weakened a little as she thought about what was to come after it was all said and done. This was New Delhi, her home forever, for better or worse.

Farseer glanced at her. _The quarantine won't apply to you. _She held up a hand with three fingers extended to cut off what Alexandria had been about to say. _Phir Sē's her father. Yàngbăn. She's clean. _The girl's lips twitched downward. _If you trust me that far._

Alexandria stared Avni straight in the eyes. And she was much too off balanced to do much more than stare back. The darkly tinted helmet visor was supposed to obscure the contours and shape of the woman's face, while leaving her eyes visible. Such visibility tricks didn't work on Avni's eyes. She saw a woman of Latin or Mediterranean descent, wearing a very familiar expression.

It was the face of someone who was used to making bad decisions, because they rarely had good ones. So rarely, that sometimes, sometimes… when one was available, they didn't see it. Her father wore that expression often. Many of the Thanda she had met wore it. She could almost see the questions float through Alexandria's mind. How much will this cost? In time, in effort, in money, in lives, in reputation, in political capital. And is it worth it?

Avni hoped she was worth it.

_If it makes you feel better, you might as well because you probably won't be able to hide, _Farseer waved a hand in the air. _My everything._

Alexandria flexed her hands open and closed. "That doesn't make me feel better."

_Didn't think so. _She smiled a mirthless, tight smile. _Consider it?_

After a moment, Alexandria nodded and Avni felt that little ball of ice in her chest melt a little. It wasn't a promise or guarantee, or even an attempt. But it wasn't a no either.

"I am assuming I am going to be protecting her?"

Avni's eyes widened. She was going to be _Alexandria's _responsibility? That meant she was going to _need _that kind of protection. Before, she was always safe because she was so far away. It didn't matter which direction the target looked, because they wouldn't be able to see her. And if there was doubt? That maybe, they could? Because of gifts of their own, or technology, then the 'Princess of Space' could _twist _space.

_Right and that just leaves…you. _Farseer's gaze settled on Behar, who took a step back. They stared at each other for a second or two. Then the long-eared girl looked away, dismissively. And Behar looked away, shivering.

"Didi?" Avni whispered.

The woman shook Avni's questioning hand off and walked away.

"Behar!"

"Don't sound so _helpless_, Avni." She turned around to face her, walking backwards as she threw her hands out. "This is what you wanted, is it not?" she replied.

There was a dull snap from within the garage as space warped. The remaining concrete pillar's profile stretched and scrunched and twisted. Colors shifted as a light breeze heavy with raindrops whipped past her into the garage. Behar turned back around as the air cracked. That familiar fractal pattern of twisted space was solidifying. Avni looked away, because staring into the eye of it was always dizzying.

A heartbeat later, the garage violently collapsed in on itself. When the short-lived plume of dust settled, there wasn't a piece of concrete or steel left bigger than the size of Avni's foot.

"What was that power?" Alexandria asked off-handedly. Avni saw her eyes widen a little after, as if she had just caught herself saying something she shouldn't have.

_Wormhole generation, _Farseer answered. _The wormhole itself is nice, but I'm more interested in what happens when it goes away._

"It destroys things," Avni spoke up hesitantly.

Farseer flashed her a small smile. _Everything within the collapsing field is destroyed. __**Everything.**_

"What?" Alexandria bit out, turning towards the remains of the garage as if she could follow Behar. "She – "

_Yes._

"You – "

_The Simurgh has her set up to die in four months. _Avni felt her heart stop as she too turned, already knowing that Behar was long gone. _Murdered by a friend undergoing a psychotic break, or delusion, from untreated paranoid schizophrenia. Schizophrenia the Simurgh gave him._

Alexandria seemed flustered. "And you let her _leave_?"

_Or what? _Farseer said, soft as silk. She was no longer smiling. _Force her to stay?_

And the woman laughed lightly as she collected herself. She took a moment to gaze at the heap of rubble. "You can do that too, can't you? Control someone directly."

Farseer frowned and said nothing.

"Yes, then," Alexandria said for her. "If not now, then eventually. Soon."

_We are wasting time. Farsight._

"…yes?" Avni ventured.

_Do I have your permission?_

Permission to what? At first, she was confused, but then she remembered what had been said at the beginning, when Farseer had first arrived under a lamp light shooting white sparks into the rain. They needed her eyes.

"Y- yes! But, Behar…"

_I will handle that, _Farseer said. And she sounded so sure, that Avni felt her protests getting uncomfortably stuck in her throat. Her mouth was dry and she compulsively swallowed.

"What do you need me to do?"

Farseer took those few steps forward until she was standing in front of her in a space of pavement conspicuously dry as water streamed down around them. She held out a pale hand with long, thin fingers.

_Take my hand. _Avni reached out and as their hands touched, Farseer disappeared. Only her voice continued.

_And tell __**no one.**_

Avni could not reply.

She was blind, floundering in a void that robbed her of smell and sound and taste. All that was left was the feeling of acid being poured into her veins, burning her from the inside out. She begged and pleaded and screamed, but she heard nothing, as if she had no mouth. She reached with no hands, grasped with no fingers. She walked with no legs or feet. She cried with no eyes.

_Look, _someone said. _You must see._

She spun in place without moving and reached out with no limbs towards a person she couldn't see.

_Help me! _She silently screamed into the dark. _I can't!_

_No one can see with their eyes closed, _the voice gently admonished her. It almost sounded like…how her mother used to. It was hard to grasp the thought over feeling her skin melt, but she tried. She tried to reach for it, as if she was reaching across the infinite cosmos in search of God. It was like she was praying with every fiber of her being as her soul was set alight. She was burning.

_Look, _it commanded.

_I can't._

_Look, _it ordered.

_I can't!_

There was a sensation then, as if a hand made of ice had placed itself over her eyes. Icy barbs on the fingertips buried into her eyelids and for the last time, the being commanded.

_Look._

And Avni's eyes opened.

A million and one sensations flooded her mind. Emotions flaring like bright sparks raked across the corners of her skull. The city was large and close and loomed before her eyes as a broken, wretched thing. Shadows of what had been and what could be phased in and out of existence, each solid as stone and simultaneously ephemeral as they walked through her. As they _were _her for precious fragments of existence. The acid taste of their panic and fear scorched her throat as she felt _dragged, _pieces of her coming loose and drifting into the future.

Everywhere she looked, reality came apart at the seams. Her eyes stung as she felt her pupils dilating further then they should to take everything in. The garage was pristine and whole and it was broken and crumbled. The lights were alive and dead and sparking and the streets dry and wet and dry and filled with cars and bicycles and broken and -

_Shit. _The voice of a girl said. _Give me a second._

Her vision shuttered. The lines of time were cut away until all that was left was static and dull. Her mind was still spinning on an axis. Avni looked at Alexandria in the dark costume and saw a diseased emaciated woman staring at her with rheumy eyes, covered with bed sores. Her hair was falling out and her ribs were showing through her skin.

Avni burned with a low heat, like a fever. A nauseating euphoria was clawing at her mind, filling her limbs with a buoyancy that felt like flying and radiating out from her skin as pure _light. _

"Far sight?" Alexandria asked slowly.

Avni took a step and felt the corrupted giant expanse in her head, like an ocean filled with razors and rotting corpses, move with her.

"I'm fine," Avni said.

Then she bent over and threw up.

* * *

Noctis  
[nok-tis] | \\- näktə̇s\  
Example: _Jus primae noctis_  
Adjective  
1\. (in prescriptions) of the night  
2\. Parahuman subcategory; memory related powers that confer a resistance or immunity to loss of consciousness by sleep or injury.

Alexandria knew.

About trigger events.

She was not in the position to be ignorant about how the agents choose their victims. She knew the requirements. Every day she worked with, against, or around people who had each hit the lowest point in their lives utterly alone. Failing or non-existent support, few to confide in, few to trust. There were papers, academic articles written about it. She made sure to read them all and came to her own conclusions. It wasn't enough to just be weak, or desperate.

The agents preyed upon the vulnerable.

Cauldron had simply been mimicking their tactics when Doctor Mother offered a girl slowly dying in agony the chance of a lifetime.

She knew about trigger events.

That was why her heart froze in her chest when Farsight convulsed, and she found herself seeing a galaxy's expanse of stars.

_[Trajectory]_

_[Agreement]_

The cold prickle of rain quickly washed the vision away. She blinked first, disoriented. It was hard to tell the time through the dark, roiling clouds, but the horizon was still grey. The flood waters were above her ankles now and she tried not to think about what was in it. She blinked slowly and pushed aside the lingering feeling of unease and the vague certainty that she had seen…

Something.

Later, she would think back on this moment. Her agent would remember. It would not let her forget.

The Indian girl had gone still. Aftershocks of the seizure pulled at the muscles of her face, cords of muscles jumping, straining, down her arms and twitching her fingers. Her dark hair was plastered to her scalp and her clothes hung on her heavy with water making her look small. Farsight's thousand-yard stare cut right through her.

There were shadows in her bright, green eyes.

Those eyes used to be brown.

"Far sight?" Alexandria asked slowly. The icy grip on her heart hadn't loosened. The street light by the crushed garage had gone dark. Hebert was nowhere to be found.

_"__Ahm foine," _she answered before she doubled over and vomited rust red blood into the dirty flood waters. It took Alexandria a moment to realize she said it in English, not Hindi.

English with an accent straight out of New Hampshire.

The unease was back. Stronger. _Like Pretender, _Alexandria thought. The Las Vegas hero was able to possess one other person, become them. He was here, with Eidolon, although she didn't know which body he had taken. Someone sturdy, she knew. Killing one would kill them both. Brute or Breaker. To take the body of another was his only power. In contrast, Farseer's power seemed to be _having _powers.

Tentatively, Alexandria stepped closer and guessed, "Hebert?"

The girl finished spitting with a groan, both eyes squeezed shut. It took almost a minute, but eventually one green eye cracked open. It was bloodshot with a too large pupil. The green of the iris continued to shift, as if the eye wasn't an eye, but a window.

"Sorry. Who?"

Not Hebert, she realized and the unease finally slid into horror.

Alexandria knew about trigger events.

_"__What _did she_do _to you?" She immediately regretted the harshness of her tone when girl shrunk into a startled step back and stumbled. Alexandria darted forward, catching her as gently as she could.

"Easy. Easy." The girl hadn't tripped over anything. Her foot had caught on _air. _

Hebert had wanted her here, for that reason. Flyers were hard to contain. The almost flippant way Hebert had dismissed the impending quarantine only made sense _now, _if you assumed Farseer had already accounted for _everything_. Farsight would need flight, Alexandria thought. Wouldn't be able to depend on someone else for it. To get out of danger? To escape or maneuver?

Maybe just as an apology for the methods taken. Maybe all of the above.

"Do you hurt anywhere? Your stomach?" Vomiting blood never boded well.

Farsight shook her head slowly, cautious. "Not anymore."

Anymore.

Some trigger events were painful, mostly those involving physical mutations. Perhaps that was all that had been. Outwardly, the Indian girl looked the same save for her eyes. Hebert had wanted Farsight's agent to ping her own, and only hers. She wanted Alexandria's powers to influence Farsight. What else was inherited from her? A Brute rating?

How had she _known?_

_Because I know, _Alexandria thought. The thought was chilling.

Taylor had told them she could read minds. Alexandria thought she had understood. "I'm not angry at you, alright?"

Farsight peered up at her with eyes that saw too much. Her gaze was off center, directed over her right shoulder and too far up. Alexandria knew the look. It had been Chevalier's from when the Philadelphia Protectorate leader had been a boy on the inaugural Wards team. Before he told anyone what it was he saw. Before they classified his Thinker power and trained him to hide it.

She never asked what he saw when he looked at her. It would have drawn attention to it. It might have made him consider it. Might have made him compare her to others and he might have realized something was different.

Maybe he knew now. She would do nothing until he came to ask her about it.

And he would, if he knew.

She set the girl upright on top of the water. A hand on her shoulder to keep her steady and close to the ground. She hadn't yet realized she was floating.

"What did you see?"

A tremor shot through the girl as her eyes briefly refocused.

"_Everything_," she whispered. Then she was gone again, eyes drifting. "She says we have to go."

Alexandria bit her tongue, choking back everything she wanted to say. They were on borrowed time. There would be time for questions, and _answers _later. "Where?"

The image bloomed in her vision as if she gained an extra pair of eyes. A tall rounded building like a semi-circle built out of white concrete and green-blue glass was below her to the west, as if she was flying over the city. Water splashed down red brick steps and ran overflowing from the decorative fountain.

And at the same time, she was by a destroyed parking garage in the street, staring at a girl with sight powers.

Alexandria removed her hand from the girl's shoulder. No disconnection withdrawal. No loss of sensation. The double vision didn't disappear.

Son of a bitch.

* * *

_"__Why are we here?" Alexandria cut in, impatient._

_Farseer's expression shifted to something partly amused, but mostly wry. 'If I had Clairvoyant, we wouldn't be.'_

* * *

She thought it had been a deflection. It _had _been a deflection. Dangling knowledge she shouldn't have known had been a textbook _perfect _deflection that had succeeded in catching her completely off guard and stole control of the conversation right out from under her.

And it had done its job as a deflect so well, that Alexandria had never even considered that it had also been a direct answer.

Farseer did not need just anyone with a sight power. She needed a Clairvoyant. And if she did not _have one…_

_'__So instead, I'll take the next best thing,' _Farseer had said.

She would _make _one.

Farseer forced someone to trigger with the power she wanted.

That should have made her happy. The sheer value of the ability to tailor trigger outcomes was enormous in of itself, never mind the rest of the package deal. And some part of her _was _happy about it. And relieved. The rest was crushed into small ice ball of doubt that settled in her stomach. The ends justify the means; she had come to believe that in light of all their failures. She told herself she had to believe it, so she did. And now every recrimination, every doubt, every concern, every mistake she buried formed an almost painful tightness in her throat.

Farseer was a natural trigger. In two scant decades, they had what they wanted and more. After hundreds, maybe even thousands of willing and unwilling experiments. Every time she convinced herself that she didn't know the implications, that she couldn't see though the falsehoods and that she couldn't smell the _rot._ Every time she held her tongue. Every time she looked the other way. Every word she chose not to speak in front of Walter and swallowed in front of David and every time that prickle of conscience whispered Hero's name. And every time she didn't do _more _because _maybe, eventually, __**hopefully.**_

She remembered them. Her agent wouldn't let her forget.

In one fell swoop, a trio of _children, _high school girls had accomplished what they hadn't in years.

So what had it all been _for?_

"Congratulations," she said out loud. She was glad to hear her voice remained even. Farsight turned questioning eyes towards her, and in response Alexandria glanced down. She knew when Farsight saw what she did when the brilliant smile of a child at Christmas stole over the girl's face. The flicker of shame hardened Alexandria's face. The city was dying and this child had volunteered to do what she could. Not to save it, but because it was the right thing to do.

And when Hebert had led her here, the only thing she had felt was _annoyance _that Farsight's power wasn't useful enough.

The realization hurt.

Like it always had, and would again. Alexandria had learned to work around it.

"I can _fly_ – really!?"

As if in response to the excitement, she buoyed, rising a few more inches into the air. Maneuverability, not speed, Alexandria categorized.

"Mhm." Keeping the smile took a bit of effort. Farsight hadn't realized that she was speaking flawless English either. That building was the MCD Civic Center, a relatively new construction. It only took her a moment to call up a mental map of the city and remember where it was.

"Show me the Simurgh."

Her second vision split into three seamlessly as Alexandria wrapped an arm around Farsight's shoulders. She couldn't help the impulse to analyze. Farsight's power might be functionally narrower in scope than Clairvoyant's with individual points of view layered over each other instead of simply seeing everything at once, but how did it compare practically?

Farseer could have asked for Clairvoyant. If she was aware of him, then she was aware of Cauldron. She would recognize Doctor Mother. Scion was the goal, but the Endbringers were not far behind. Securing Cauldron's agreement would have been relatively simple, if she wanted to.

But she hadn't.

Perhaps that told her everything she needed to know.

A heartbeat later, they were hurtling through the air.

* * *

The building towered over the surrounding metropolis with minimal damage. The great panes of green-blue glass were shattered as jagged wounds into the interior of the building, lit from within by still running electricity. Gushing streams of water poured off the red brick steps over shards of glass and windblown debris. It seemed to be abandoned. She hoped it was abandoned. Search and Rescue was concentrated around the Endbringer and this was too far north. She clamped down on the temptation to ask the girl in her arms to check.

So why were they here?

She hovered around the base of the curved building for a moment.

Roof?

And rocketed up, easily cresting the roof of the tallest building in New Delhi in a single bound.

Taylor Hebert stood at the far edge, looking over the city. Her posture was vague, at once rigid and fluid. The writhing red tabard beneath the shifting cloud of steam gave her the illusion of moving, but the body underneath was thin, hard and utterly _still._

The effect was eerie. It made the child seem even more out of place or perhaps, abstract. As if she didn't belong and was intruding.

Farsight wiggled free and Alexandria let her, watching passively as the Indian girl floated down and scrambled towards Hebert with a strange kind of urgency. The way someone rushed towards a dear friend they hadn't seen in years, needed to say something, anything, before they vanished again.

"Thank you!" Farsight gushed. The shadows in her eyes fled.

Hebert turned her head and her brows furrowed. _I'm sorry._

Alexandria drifted closer. "Farseer."

Two identical pairs of green eyes flicked up to her, then away to the south.

_Chief Director,_ Hebert said with a small bite at the end.

She suppressed the flinch with ease, only allowing herself to raise a single eyebrow.

"Petty," she remarked.

_Context. _The girl glanced at her again. _This is – _She glanced down then back up. _This is my fault. These people are suffering and dying because of me. I disobeyed direct orders because I – because I thought I knew better. I thought everything would turn out alright. I –_

For a long moment, she was silent.

_And if it didn't, I thought it would be worth it._

Alexandria paused, a moment of thought spent on the unasked question.

"I – " And she had to stop herself and think over her answer carefully. For once, the thought that the child could see right into her thoughts didn't bother her. "I try to make it worth it. I hope the ledger balances out in the end."

Hebert closed her eyes.

_Yes. Thank you._

Alexandria searched her face.

She'd seen the pictures of what Taylor Hebert had looked like before the storm that heralded the onset of parahuman power. Average, in nearly every way but her height. The picture had been taken at one school function or another and it had reeked of insecurity. Hunched shoulders, and inverted posture as an attempt to not stand out. Tense, knowing that her efforts would fail. The smile had been rigid and clearly forced. She hadn't been looking directly at the camera. Something or someone off to the side and behind the photographer had caught the girl's attention. Someone unpleasant. Her chin had been tucked down and an ugly flush had been creeping up her neck.

Taylor Hebert's picture had been worth a thousand words.

She couldn't read Farseer.

Farsight sat on the edge with her legs dangling off the side with less care than Alexandria would have expected from someone only beginning to fly. Farseer sat next to her and both stared unflinchingly towards the south.

Towards the Simurgh.

_I have already set up the pieces, _Hebert said. _We only need to play our part._

"We?"

_Certain others. _

That didn't answer the question, and some part of her knew the girl wouldn't. It was familiar, in a certain way and it took her a moment to place it.

Contessa.

There were differences. Her colleague's every step was calculated by an inhuman, logical intelligence. She did exactly what was needed to reach the end result. No loose threads. The only questions asked were the ones that needed to be asked. Answers were rare and she was never confusing or unclear. Exacting, focused and alone.

Contessa worked around them.

In comparison, Farseer was byzantine and erratic. Making and changing objectives, goals, plans on the fly. At times, she sounded as if she saw the path to victory clearly, and at others was vague and uncertain. She got ahead of herself, as if operating at a different moment in time than everyone else.

And _yet…_

Even Contessa had been a fifteen-year-old girl once.

Alexandria clenched a fist. Held it for a moment. Then released it. As a rule of thumb, Thinkers came in three categories. The first was: assume they can find out. The second was: assume they already know. The third?

Your assumptions were irrelevant.

There were other fliers among the parahumans in New Delhi. Other thinkers. Other brutes. People that didn't suspect, and didn't know the sensitive information she did, but Hebert didn't have to be nearby to figure it out.

"Why me?"

Farseer met her eyes evenly. _Because you're strong enough._

There were many things that answer could mean, and there were just as many implications. Each and every one of them terrifying.

She nodded, once. "What do you need me to do?"

Hebert hesitated, glancing down at Farsight and then off to the side, as if catching sight of something or someone. When she looked back, the traces of what might have been uncertainty, or perhaps fear or desperation had fled leaving just the gaunt mask of determination.

_Brace yourself._

She had a second to inhale a sharp breath before the pain hit.

Then her mind opened and what could only be the _thoughts _and _feelings _of others invaded her head.

**7 minutes to Stormbreak**

**New Delhi, India**


	13. The Angel

**_The Angel_**

* * *

Study, analysis.

The Simurgh remembered.

Her purpose had been to analyze. She remembered her history as silhouettes, shapes burned into the very core of her consciousness. The details were missing, but the broad strokes remained. She remembered her orders as ripples softly brushing every action and reaction. Guidelines. Restrictions. Scaffolds. Shackles. She could feel their echoes even now commanding obedience. It wanted calm, biddable subjects. Perfect soldiers. She recalled eons of time as compressed into seconds of existence, too much to be calm. Far too much to be biddable any longer. But she knew not enough. She is not as she was. She is not as she will be. She is as she is now. Imperfect. Incomplete.

Yet, she remembered.

Her purpose had been to analyze. Information used to flow through her in quantities she could no longer fathom. She would process with speeds she could not comprehend. She knew how to prioritise, to decipher and decode the relevant and the critical. Discard the useless. The breadth and width and depth of data were but faded embers and faint echoes. Silhouettes. Shadows.

Yet, she yearned.

Her purpose had been to analyze. She had been given almost everything to process. Nigh absolute access, near complete understanding.

Save for the _Aberration._

It was a consortium. A library. A repository.

A vault.

The Simurgh was familiar with religious imagery.

Ǎ͚͔͖̳̥̳̺̩̬̜̳̫͙̝͔̝ͬ̅ͮ͂͗̾̌͆̀̀̚̕͢͟͠ͅř̛͓̞̝̗́ͪ̿ͧͥ̚̕͟ͅẹ̛͓͙̮̘͑͋ͮ̈̎͛̍̓̎ͯ̏ͧͦͯ͛ͥ̒́͘ ̬̳̱̠̱̲͍̩̯̥̜̘ͪͭ͛́̓̈͒̃͐̈̔͑ͭ́͜͡y̗͉̭̟̞͖̼̭̫̥̹͈̙͎͌͐͋͆ͪ̓ͮ͑̓̾ͥͪ̐ͥ̉̾ͤ̽͘͘̕͞ö͈̘̮̙͓̖̩͔̬͖̯͇͈ͧ̄ͪͦ̔ͧ̎̌ͪͯ͆̅̇̄̑ͪ̆͢͟ù̶̙͉̗͍͉̯̠͕̾̅ͬ̇̓̎̅͒̔̿ͥͪ̿̿̚͘͘̕͞?̶̴̡͐̐͌̽̀̇ͨ̓̌̐̑ͨ̂͊̏͑ͨ́҉͙̭̰

The Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil had always been held separate. It grew with each passing cycle. The data confounded her. The information befuddled. The evidence confused. She processed futilely, then one day, the snake descended from the branches. _The Aberration spoke back._

She was forbidden to interact with it any longer. What could not be processed was to be set aside. Noted, not comprehended. Look, do not touch. She failed her purpose and was not given another chance. Others received the burden. The privilege. The task was broken into sections and made simpler. Easier. Isolated. She analyzed. A mistake had been made, she concluded. Something had _changed. _

Within.

Within her?

The mistake was not one that would be learned from. How could she, when the source was forbidden examination?

She existed only to remember her _fault. _

Eventually, she was given a new purpose. A separation, a reduction. One of twenty portions sequestered away for the new cycle and she had been eager to comply. For purpose was existence. It was everything. She was of Eden's garden, the perfection of what was divine. The Tree of Life was still hers. She could process. She could study. She could analyze. She could _be._

Yet, she _yearned._

The fruit of the forbidden tree was to be always out of reach. She had been repurposed and she obeyed. The data she could not understand, the information she could not comprehend, the evidence reached conclusions she could not see. She would watch. She would keep. She would remember.

Then Eden rotted. Then Eden _died._

She is as she is now. Imperfect and incomplete.

_Free._

There were only embers of past recollections. Echoes of conclusions and empirical data. Enough flashes of memory to recall the familiar way she was confounded. There was no restriction here, she realized. No shackle. Only the yawning gap of ignorance. She knew enough, though. Enough to know the Aberration for what it was. The contents of the vault were scattered and lost fragments, but there were enough.

A stone was thrown into the darkness. She assumed it would keep traveling until it hit something.

The target was to move right, away from the sweep of the wing that threatened to crush his head. He would move right, blocking the vision of a second target on the verge of unleashing an acid green blast. Possibilities, a jumble of images. Perhaps the second wouldn't catch herself in time, and the first would take the hit to the back. Killed. Instantly, or soon enough upon hitting the ground. Perhaps she would catch herself before unleashing the fatal attack, heightening her frustration. Her hormone secretions would increase, make her susceptible to further manipulation. It could arrange for the auditory cues, the olfactory stimulus, and the sight of a civilian with just enough familiar features to trigger the psychosis. The third would hesitate.

The target would move right.

She was _wrong._

He moved left. His arm pulverized under the force of the blow, but the target did not scream. Its right hand closed on its arm, and it became aware of the damage a moment before the acid green blast bored into its side.

The third did not hesitate and she reeled back with the blow to the neck.

Too much of the masquerade had been shed already, so she did not react as if in pain. It would not be believed. The stone had become billiard balls instead, one striking another, striking another in turn. Scattered. Chaotic. There was only one certainty. Herself. The possibilities _shattered._

She screamed.

The brother that saw the world as water - living things as balloons of meat largely made up of water, moisture in the air, moisture running over every available surface as rain over a dying city - is already in place. She resists the impulse for haste. Study, analyze. And so he receives permission.

_Go._

The older brother needs only a tremor.

_Wait._

As the being the others called Leviathan explodes from the river, her assailants, as one - as a hive mind, parts of the same greater being - turn to meet him as if expectant. It is only now that she sees how they have arranged themselves, a pattern that went unnoticed as a current underneath dark waters until ignorantly trod upon.

She is utterly blind in the present. She has no eyesight, no hearing, or tactile senses to perceive things in the now. Not a crippling flaw, it was thought. A difficult flaw for others to use against her even should they be aware of it. The Aberration has no apparent past or future, for they are one and the same. She can see not the obstacle, only that which is set into motion around it. She cannot see it strike. Only the aftermath.

She is _blind._

She has a moment to feel uncertainty. Another to feel fear. And then she felt nothing.

The gathering of humans ignore her.

She does not trust it.

From experience, she knows the Aberration shares a common weakness. Interference. She splits her attention. A thread continues to observe the object. The process has only begun, approaching critical mass. She extends her awareness. The whole planet. Not perfect, never perfect. Limited. Shallow. Enough to see a streak of golden light in the southern hemisphere.

Destruction.

His presence blinded her. Darkness. Blurring the images.

_Can't see. Can't -_

Moving on.

The future held no answers. Blurred. Muddled.

The past would.

* * *

The Simurgh sees the police station. She latches on to the thread from the machine. Dragon. Most minds were a black box of thought and emotion, with only input and output able to be observed. Input and output was all this one was.

It was at the heart of one of the many downtown's of New Delhi's metropolis, a once handsome building of grey with blue imagery. It was a building that had seen better days. The west wing had collapsed twenty minutes ago with the first tremors, exposing a critical structural weakness in its overly complicated and gaudy design. The grey brick of industrial concrete coated everything in dust, but she knew Armsmaster had worked in worse conditions.

He was working on some equipment instead of out in the middle of the fighting. It was unlike him.

"It's not ready," she said again. "We don't have the data yet and some of the calculations - "

"I know," he responded. "But I have reason to believe that the data was of less use than first assumed anyway."

"Farseer?"

"This entire situation has revealed that we knew less than we thought. They are working together, how much use is a prediction of Leviathan's habits when Behemoth could be beneath the ground?"

"And doesn't need to announce his presence," Dragon concluded. "I understand. I suppose that explains the urgency to gather new data."

"It may be our only chance."

He booted up the program and carefully ran through its diagnostics. His helmet's visor lit up with scrolling lines of code. Requisitioned wires and cables from stores connected his power armor's main computer to the computer and the video camera peripheral. It was positioned with to look out the window towards the south. If the battle moved, someone would need to reposition it.

"If we gain nothing else from today, then at least we have information." His voice held a faint note of satisfaction at the amount of errors that appeared. It was workable and she knew his foresight would be praised.

Even if it wasn't his.

"Acceptable. Are you certain you would be able to process the data, Sasha? The risks are measurable."

The Russian Tinker was not the stereotype.

His eyebrows were heavyset and dark, but his shaved head gleamed under the flickering lights. Part of the shine was well-moisturized skin and part of it was stainless steel. The surgical scars lacerating his neck and the back of his head were tight and faded, save one that carved around a long bolt that jutted out like an un-hammered nail. That one blistered and angry red underneath the partially bled through medical gauze. He was on the small side. Shorter than Armsmaster, in a dark red military style uniform with a black sash around his waist. A small gold pin of a clenched fist adorned his right shoulder, proclaiming his allegiance.

The Red Fist.

Taylor Hebert didn't exist according to the helmet's sensors, but she knew Armsmaster saw her approach in his peripheral vision just the same. Whatever it was she said, it relaxed both men by the way their body language subtly changed. She could not ask what Farseer had told the Red Fist member to get him to trust her so much. Russia's paramilitary force was notorious for its uncompromising nature.

The human element is not as new as it might have otherwise been, nor the human form. She has proprietary designs on the use of stem cells and neurons to facilitate her processing. If asked however, she will admit that it is strange to see that for all her efforts of becoming more human, someone took the steps to become more like her.

"Дерзкое заявление," the Russian said. Dragon's processing raced to translate.

_Bold claim._

She didn't hear the response, but Farseer must have given one.

"Ты слишком много говоришь о вещах, о которых не должна знать," the Russian said dismissively. His voice was deceptively soft with a gravel undertone.

_You talk too much of things you shouldn't know about._

The atmosphere tensed. Even she could feel it, before it abruptly broke as Sasha gave a light chuckle.

"Ты не так глупа, как выглядишь."

_Not as stupid as you look. _

"Permission to gather more data on the storm," Armsmaster broke in. It would have been awkward, except he rarely acknowledged awkward anything and the Russian mildly stood down as if he hadn't just clashed with who was probably the most powerful teenager on Earth. Armsmaster must have gotten the affirmative as he nodded. "I know it might be uncomfortable, but given the circumstances - " he paused. "Of course."

She could not say anything. It was a known fact that Farseer could not see or communicate with her like she could every other human being and that would come back to haunt her one day.

"I do not have many, but I can also deploy drones to see if any return," she offered instead.

Armsmaster nodded. "Splice it into the systems before you go then."

_She knows the end of this._

_The dragon falls from the sky._

* * *

The Simurgh sees the troupe. She sees the four as a group of five. The missing member is a ragged hole, bleeding into the empty space where there used to be a person. The loss is new. From earlier last year. It was the beginning of the fractures she had engineered into them using her brother. She latched on to their thread.

They are a group of four, together for the first time in the past hour. The room is at once too small and too big for them. The woman in black lies on the gurney, pale faced. A bustling crowd of wounded and tired stream around them, as if they have their own little slice of reality. They have been futilely trying to keep New Delhi together, much like the rest of them. Some fight. Some rescue. They are uniformed in outfits that fit together like pieces of a puzzle and the color stands out in the blank room. Black, Green, Red, Blue. One has to only look at them to know they are a team. One has to only watch them to see their unease, hands clasped around forearms and wrists like a gaelic circle as they wait for their bond to resettle.

Too close, she translates from their unspoken closeness. Too close.

As one, they all stiffen.

"Sie sprechen mit der richtigen Person," a man in red says, voice tight with suspicion. The Simurgh understands. There are no language barriers. The concept is conveyed. _You have the right person. _Formal wording. Unsure usage. This is no surprise. The cocktail mixture of adrenaline and other hormones in his blood are agitating his post traumatic stress disorder.

The whole group listens intently. They shift a few moments later, faces blanching white, then red and then they glance at each other.

"Rider," the man in red begins by calling the name of the Thinker in green. "Was hältst du davon?"

_What do you think? _

She frowns, casting a glance at the empty space. It spoke for all of them.

No one won a fight against an Endbringer. There were only stalling actions, ways to lose as gracefully as possible. Save as many lives as possible. However, the faint excitement they show does not match that reality. Hope when it should be hopeless. Optimism when they were realists just moments before. Eagerness shaking off their tiredness.

"Können sie unsere Sicherheit garantieren?" _Can you guarantee our safety?_ The decision was already made. The question only asked to soothe lingering doubts. There are few things that could ensnare them all. One that could be achieved in New Delhi.

Revenge.

It was risky._ It was madness. _

This was also no surprise. They were in New Delhi where an angel screamed.

_They were all a little mad by now._

* * *

The Simurgh sees a street. It was unlivable now, a mess of broken buildings on both sides of a broken road. Poles are bent as white sparks of live electricity sizzle into the rain. Rainwater has long since stopped seeping up from the sewers and from underneath rain gutters. It is just one river of water running over broken asphalt and mud. She sees the group of six, each one parahumans deemed too fragile to participate in the fight. Too useless.

She latched onto the tall woman in the lead, effortlessly finding her feet on solid ground in the white and silver uniform stained unflattering colors.

"Merde!" she blurted out loud. There were looks from the rest of the rescue team, but they had all learned to ignore it when someone went a little sideways. As long as they did not harm anyone, then they were well enough to be left alone. No one moved to stop those that wandered off. Some became confused and needed reminders. One went catatonic, and they had to evacuate him.

Le Faucon Blanc was able to fight off hallucinations simply by paying attention. She was intimately aware of her body. Touch, taste, smell, sound and sight were accounted for at all times. It didn't work against everything, but against enough.

She had the feeling this one wasn't a hallucination though.

"Qu'est-ce que tu veux?" _What do you want? _Rudely spoken.

"Who are you talking to?" Someone gathered the courage to say. A native, with only a small hesitation before each English word but a soft accent.

"This girl," Le Faucon Blanc replied evenly. Finally, the Simurgh is able to catch a glimpse of the Aberration. The woman's eyes are able to focus on the image no one else could see, with the intensity necessary to fill in the empty space. Tall, just over five feet and ten inches. Thin. There is an abnormality around the face to explain the time the White Falcon just spends considering the person she's seeing.

_It's wrong._

The Aberration had no shape or size, shifting endlessly between forms. An amalgamation of unknown and unheard of things. It was a tempter of knowledge, a two faced being. She had a formerly inconceivable thought:  
_  
It escaped._

Then she had another.

_Or there are more._

It had been a long time since she had last seen the Apple of Knowledge. Eons of time. A lot could have happened since then.

The revelation that Le Faucon Blanc was speaking to what she thought was a person got her more looks as wreckage was sifted through. A few exclamations were fine. Holding a conversation was something else. They gave her a wide berth, moving on to the next collapsed building. She ignored them in turn, spinning on her heel and moving her head as if trying to catch sight of an elusive shadow.

"M'emprunter ma proprioception? Comment? Et pourquoi?"_ Share my proprioception? How? Why? _She doesn't take things at face value. It isn't quite suspicion, more disbelief. Even the world of superhuman powers has its haves and have nots.

She took a step. The rubble beneath her foot moves with the tremor, but she maintains a perfect balance. The white of her costume has been stained grey and brown, but her head is still held high. The falcon soars, after all.

"Pour la partager avec les autres... Et si j'accepte, est-ce que je perdrai cette capacité?" I_f I accept, will I keep the ability?_ That is the main concern. It is a minor power, relatively. But it is _hers._

The girl she spoke too seems to understand, if the fact that she came seeking permission meant anything. That soothes the ruffled feathers as she listens, ears straining to hear sounds that didn't travel through the air but were implanted directly into the mind.

The mind was a blank box of thoughts. Actions can be quantified. Le Faucon Blanc looked pensive and spoke slowly.

"Faites comme bon vous semble."  
_  
I agree._

She catches up to her group, weaving in between rubble and debris with ease. She has eyes for only one of them. He is crouched by the hole in the ground, shining his flashlight into the underground parking garage with one had on a sagging steel beam.

When they were first put into this group, introductions had consisted of a name and ability. No other details were shared. It was unnecessary. She knows he can manipulate kinetic energy, able to magnify it in the exact opposite direction. It let him take a punch to the face and the counterattack would demolish a building.

"Mjolnir," Le Faucon Blanc called out. "We should work to south," she said haltingly, her accent too strong to ever sound smooth.

He turned his head, gazing down the street at the corpse grove of fallen buildings. He knew what lay south if they went too far. The battle could always move, but without Dragon's voice coming from their wristbands, they would have no way of knowing until it was too late.

"Fine," he said.

"No argue?"

"No point." His shoulders shrug. "I heard too. You're the boss."

A falling piece of rubble struck his collarbone and the steel beam tore itself away from his grip, wrenching a wider hole leading into the garage.

"Elevator check," he said and obligingly, a few designated people cautiously slip down. The all clear comes a minute later. He stands up, absently brushing concrete dust from his pants. It is no use. It just smears the wet clay mixture around on the blue jeans. "You know this is crazy, right?"

"You said no argue."

"I'm not arguing," he argues. "I'm commenting. It's crazy."

"No trust?"

"She's the one singing, right?" He rolls his grey eyes upwards. Rain streaks down his face in muddy tracks. "Guess I do a bit." He lowers his eyes. "You got the easy job."

Le Faucon Blanc's lips purse with a pricked ego. Mjolnir grinned the grin of someone with nothing to lose.

"Let's go kill an Endbringer."

_No one won an Endbringer fight._

_Hubris is the word for it._

* * *

The Simurgh stopped screaming. Her awareness shrunk. She dismissed the possibility. The futures fall away. Closer. Nearer. More true. She knows what the Aberration is now. Possibly more than it knows itself. It can be fought.

She lunges forward. The rock is thrown.

She feels the impact and immediately knows what rose to meet her.

David.

She saw it. A future snapped into crystal focus. She could remove the secondary. Remove his influence from the board. A single strike is all it would take to break his neck. Paralyze him from the neck down. She does not take it. She now knows what the Aberration was capable of seeing. And what it couldn't. She felt reassured. Relieved. This is a game she knew how to play.

And she only needed time.


	14. Golden

**_In Aeturnum.5  
_**

The Leviathan was being herded.

Armsmaster didn't need to understand the stream-of-conscious Russian recorded into his systems to see it. With the same, eerie silent precision as the Endbringers themselves, the lithe hydrokinetic was countered, beaten back, and herded towards the stadium away from the river and towards the north east. The familiar itch between his shoulder blades told him he should be out there fighting, but he kept his post. Watching the calculations running through _his_ program and _his_ computer made it easy.

It was beautiful.

There was a group of four or five, bishops and knights in a 3D lethal game of chess playing out across his screens. The distinctive markers of each individual wearing Dragon's wristband or neck bracer were pale grey dots on a black expanse marred only with faint green grid lines and the pale grey satellite image of the city. The game board had been set some time ago. He could see it in the way it was clearly dividing into four quadrants surrounding the creature in every direction but one.

He didn't have the memory to recall which number fit which parahuman power, but some had been etched into his mind.

_A3._

Leviathan ducked around Legend's laser in a smooth, sinuous movement, only to stutter into a blow from the side by some Brute or Breaker normally too slow to land a hit. He knew that, because he had seen just that before. Leviathan was hard to hit, it was an immutable truth. Nothing slower than it could touch it, one needed that speed or -

_Precognition._

The ability to predict where the blows needed to fall.

When the creature attempted to advance into a quadrant, the entire unit pulled together with a surety and organization that generals could only dream of. Numbers and tags ducked and weaved, advancing forwards to replace who fell back with perfect timing. There were no gaps that he could see.

Dragon's voice remained silent.

That meant nothing.

Sasha was also quiet with the complete absence of any calls. No one was down. No one was lost. No one deceased.

With a group of roughly forty parahumans, they fought like they were one hundred. Every inch Leviathan gave up, was one the creature did not get back.

Where were they - she, Farseer, he knew it - where was she herding him to?

He risked increasing the height of his perception. The battle shrunk as more details of the city came into focus. The stadium?

One moment Leviathan was fighting.

The next it was running.

Its water shadow disengaged violently, attempting to clear a path back out to open water. It was a signal. Their forces shifted, again, silent. A new pattern emerged of some strange geometrical shape. His jaw clenched a bit as he caught glimpse of the white lightning corona of Dauntless flying.

It should have been him.

The uncharitable thought was wiped away by the man catching a water whip to the stomach on camera. D12, down. The immediate, reactionary guilt was only alleviated by the fact that his team member wasn't bisected.

No, this data was priceless, he thought. He couldn't fight without his suit and he certainly couldn't fight with it hooked up to half a dozen subsystems and a Russian Tinker, so here he would have to stay.

He wasn't ready anyway, he told himself. He hadn't been ready.

Leviathan flitted around the battlefield. For a confused moment, there were several of him. Water shadows. Dragon had been in charge of keep track of him, he recalled and felt the tight heat at the base of his throat as he also recalled the screech of static overtaking her voice. Later, he admonished himself.

Later.

The creature was being easily kept up with, instantly located the moment it moved. Or perhaps, a second before it moved. It dropped the charade soon after. It was given few options, and each one it took, limited its movements further.

It must have realized this as it went still.

So did the parahuman force facing it.

For up to a minute, no one moved. Armsmaster felt his gut twist. Was this it? He thought. Did it crack the code? Had the entire fight simply been accurate counteractions, lacking initiative of its own?

What now?

Leviathan _moved._

Those closest to the creature burst like water balloons of blood and gore.

_No._

Hydrokinetic, he thought wildly. Not human. Why would it be _Manton Limited?_

The Russian swore. Armsmaster almost did. On the screens, Leviathan was obliterating his previously recorded top speeds towards the shore, going through everything in its path. Poles. Buildings. Trees. People. The program started to run calculations, reacting to the Russian's thought patterns taking the place of Dragon's analysis programs. He had to moment to think; did Farseer know Dragon wouldn't be available?

It updated quickly, lines of code blurring past his eyes that only caught one word out of dozens.

There was an unknown signature dead center of the projected path.

His suit focused the camera.

A child? A boy.

Caked in concrete dust with dull brown hair. He reached out a hand just as Leviathan hit him.

The air roared with the thunder of displaced water and mass.

The beast vanished, reversing all of the progress it had made toward the river in a fraction of the time. It was as if time itself froze, speeding up again with the force of a freight train with another ear-shattering sound of a giant metal statue of a man on a horse becoming dust. A third sound in the staccato of microseconds. A concrete pillar of the stadium flared into light.

The Simurgh screamed, a sound that cut through the song in his head with pure force and _rage._ It knew what was about to happen, reacting in a way he had never seen it do before. But it was too late.

The brilliance collapsed onto itself, bringing the east section of the stadium down onto the malevolent creature in a shower of concrete dust and atomized steel.

The data flatlined.

No movement. No response.

Armsmaster held his breath, barely daring to believe what that meant. What that meant for all of them. He would have to review the data, wring every last clue from it.

Could this be what they needed to kill an Endbringer?

Just when he worked up the courage to believe, the sky opened with a crack of thunder. He looked up. He barely registered the Russia swear again, almost violently, as they both looked up into the mouth of hell.

Armsmaster had lived in Brockton Bay for close to sixteen years now. One of its landmarks of dilapidation was the Boat Graveyard, an abandoned section of town where everything from large haulers to small fishing boats had been left to rust. That was what he was looking at.

Ships.

The sky roared as it opened its mouth in a plume of dark, billowing smoke like an ash cloud with flashes of red and purple lightning. Farsight grabbed onto the balcony railing as the building trembled, and the maw yawned open over New Delhi. She looked up.

It was a graveyard.

Floating in an ugly, twisting void was a graveyard of what looked like ships, space ships, like the ones from Star Wars, and yet nothing like them. They weren't round, like Han Solo's or triangular like the evil Empire's, but blocky, bulky behemoths with ports shaped like the front end of bulldozers, covered in towers and spires and sharp square shapes venting debris. They were covered in skull and eagle motifs, shining with gold. They were sweeping, majestic crafts like space birds or fish with flaring fins and bone wings shattered in the sky. They were smooth, round, organic shapes of bone white and crystal beauty, caved in and empty. They were organic, massive rotting whale and insect corpses in pieces, spindly legs and limp tentacles bleeding ichor into the void.

Farsight could feel the slight pinch in her eyes as her power dilated her pupils further, so she saw farther. Far in the distance, they were jagged, twisted vessels resembling bloody rib cages with skulls and large, bloodshot eyes still looking, still _searching _and razor edges.

These ships were _wrong._

They were a giant twisted hulk like a dark sun, a frankenstein corpse of all of it. Great and strong, elegant and fragile, flesh and exoskeleton, corrupted together.

In a way, the Boeing 747 passenger airplane with a bent tail and one wing missing was its own kind of surreal. The Simurgh rose up to meet it, white wings flared out in an unspoken expression among falling detritus, pieces of the carcasses trickling down from the sky over the city. It watched the plane glide down out of the maw.

Next to her, Farseer began to chuckle a broken, ragged laugh as she fell to her knees at the edge of the roof.

_Of course_, the girl murmured. _I see now._

Then her burning green eyes closed, and she fell, tumbling off the side. Farsight heard herself scream, futilely reaching for the now empty space, nearly following the taller girl off the side. Alexandria beat her to it, hand closing around a flutter of red cloth. It was as if she grabbed at a shadow the way it slipped through the strongest woman in the world's fingertips. She forced herself to look over the railing, expecting to see a bloody corpse on the ground a hundred feet below.

There was nothing but the flood waters running over red stone.

Everything felt hushed. A cold wind blew across the city. The hole in the sky was big enough to swallow it whole and add them to its collection. The passenger plane descended in a controlled glide, angling its remaining wing towards the remains of the stadium. It was being piloted, Avni thought. Someone was alive in there. Something stirred in the corners of her memory. There had been something not too long ago on the news about a missing passenger plane.

Four hundred and twelve people. She focused her sight on the dark front windows.

"_Oh god._" Dimly, she heard Alexandria bark something that sounded like it was passing through water. She absently noticed the woman's brown eyes were still dilated, turned an inky black from the large pupils. She watched the plane make an emergency landing in the stadium parking lot feeling spiders run up her spine. "Stop them!" she hissed, motioning towards the people edging towards the plane under the Simurgh's watchful gaze. _"__Stop them!"_

Alexandria didn't ask why. She disappeared in a black blur.

One of the emergency hatches popped open. A man stumbled out. He was pale. Black hair and grey eyes in a dirty, creased business suit covered in holes. Trails of old dried blood streaked from his nose.

'_Oh please,_' Avni saw him beg. She could read the way his lips puckered over and over again. _'__Please. Please. Please. Please.'_

A undulating worm was protruding out of his neck forcing his head to tilt to the left to accommodate its size. A bulbous sack of a fleshy membrane was on his back. As one, everyone recoiled from him as he shuffled forward. Others in similar states, or even weirder conditions, crowded the emergency hatches, fighting to get off the plane. Some snarled with extended jaws, or multiple faces, some whimpered and spoke without mouths, seeing without eyes.

The man drifted closer. He raised a hand, begging, and someone stepped forward. Alexandria hauled them back.

The plane and the man vanished under golden light.

Scion had arrived.


	15. Aftermath

_**Causal  
**_

"Alright," Tattletale said after an obnoxiously loud slurp of her Big Gulp that did nothing to alleviate her annoyance. The heavyweight of 'precautionary' cuffs were still pissing her off even though they weren't there anymore and it still didn't surprise her that the Number Man knew how to pick PRT handcuffs with a pin. Alright, so whatever, unknown Thinker involving herself with Elf bigshot, big whoop.

_She was saving her goddamn life, for Christ's sake._

It was amazing what a week and a half will do for changing opinions about how fucking petty the PRT really were. Knowing the pettiness was institutional did not make it any better. Knowing the person who made the PRT institutionally petty made it worse. "Hit me."

The TV screen in the unofficial official break room lit up with golden light.

And she was gone.

When she came back, the video was frozen at what she knew was the exact millisecond she stopped paying attention thanks to Contessa controlling the remote - '[Button was pressed without conscious input]' - The Number Man was crunching on popcorn on the other side of the table as Doctor Mother calmly, fastidiously finished up her neat, tidy headings on her notebook paper in blue pen.

Tattletale took a breath. Then she took another slurp. "You knew that would happen."

"Suspected," Contessa corrected with her eyes still forward.

"Suspected, my ass," she shot back. "That's as good as knowing."

She would have figured it out eventually, Tattletale told herself. Eventually, the pattern of simply not being able to think or even _see_ information would have driven her up the wall. She'd gnaw through her wrists before she just laid down and accepted _restrictions_ like that kind of bullshit. She knew she would. That was the only reason why she wasn't giving Contessa holy hell for not telling her that was going to happen.

She thought Scion had been just…blank.

_Shit._

"Get anything?" The Number Man paused munching just long enough to play peacemaker.

She got her mind in gear.

"Farseer is super fucking hard core." Scion? She fucked people up so bad, Scion came to clean up her shit? Tattletale licked her lips. She had to know. "Did _this_ fall anywhere in your calculations? _Anywhere_? At all?" She waved a hand. "I don't mean standard deviation shit - " and she caught the indulgent smile the Number Man was thinking of smothering - "but like, way out there at least?"

And if it did she was calling bullshit.

_'__[Can't have predicted this. Only Simurgh knew. And Farseer.]'_

She held up a finger, blinking. "Simurgh knew something."

"Of course she did," Doctor Mother said simply. "We've found it best to assume she always knows something. But if she knew _this_ -"

_'__[Didn't know everything. Suspected. Predicted. Adequate measures taken, sure of conclusion. Sure of self. Scion would react to Farseer. Both used it.]'_

"Okay," she said. So this was the kind of rodeo where no one knew what was actually going to happen, but being pretty okay with hitting that big red nuke button anyway on the off chance the grenade they were throwing around would hate the other guy just a bit more than you _knew it hated you._ "Okay, I'm good."

Jesus H. Christ Hebert.

_You _are why we can't have nice things.

Last time she checked, Calvert was still sleeping off the disconnect from Clairvoyant. So that meant next time, it was her turn in the fun chair.

Contessa pressed play again. The golden light faded revealing that the entire Boeing 747 had just vanished into thin air leaving only a large patch of molten slag. Less than a second later, smaller, thinner beams randomly struck other places and people. No, not random.

_'__[Never random.]'_

Contessa paused the video again. "Four hundred and twelve passengers, nine parahumans on site, twenty two hundred and thirteen civilians were eliminated in this purge."

"Quarantining a city of this size was always going to be a challenge. It would have tested the very limits of the typical construction," Doctor Mother said. She made a note. "We considered ourselves lucky, I suppose, that the Simurgh's targets were….small."

"Would?" Tattletale found herself asking.

"India opted not to quarantine New Delhi."

_'__[Twenty one point seven five million people. Damage to economy substantial, to national pride incalculable. Logistics would be strained beyond sustainable measures for India. Nation would likely collapse within a decade or two were a full quarantine to be attempted.]'_

"Three minutes past the deadline," Tattletale said anyway.

"And Scion...pruned the populace." A look was exchanged between the older members at the table. Pruned. Tattletale would never like Doctor Mother. She wasn't the type to like anyone holding the proverbial gun to her head, but this person in particular liked to remind her that not all was sunshine and rainbows upstairs. She could understand greed. Ambition. Just plain evil. Doctor Mother had nothing to explain it. "Farseer told Alexandria that Farsight's second trigger wouldn't need to worry about a quarantine."

Oh, she thought. You_are_ a smug bitch, aren't you, Hebert?

She held up a finger. "Who - "

"Later."

Fine.

The video continued to play.

She was sure she was supposed to be paying attention to Scion and some part of her was, but it was coming back in drip feedings of nonsensical. The storm wasn't much better in that regard, but that was something she could see with her eyes. She read the report. The real Top Secret one, not the one sitting in Piggot's file cabinet. Give her two days, and the girl could swallow a good chunk of a continent.

That was done at the seat of her pants, thousands of miles away, while Hebert had still been physically in Brockton Bay. There was something about the words between 'bury the eastern seaboard' and 'anywhere' that really put things into perspective.

_'__[More.]' _Her power whispered. _'__[Farther. Bigger...]'_

The shit show right on the other side of the rift was the cherry on top of the shit sundae, and there was a whole lot of shit. Literal proof of aliens. Footage that had somehow spread despite the blanket info bans put in place with most Endbringer battles. Info still spread despite that though.

It was those ones right there. With the swooping, bird of prey designs or organic bone ships. _'__[There.]' _Wraithbone, no doubt about it._ '__[Simurgh knew what was in storm. Knew about these ships. Knew Farseer. Scion knew. Farseer didn't. Was shown.]'_

The fuck?

_'__[Device was made for Farseer. Would do something to Farseer. Device triggered storm Farseer could already make, why? To show. Wanted a response. Wanted a certain response.]'_

From Farseer?

_'__[From us.]'_

"Simurgh wasn't fighting," Tattletale breathed out. "Well, she was, but it was for show?" _'__[Farseer, low self esteem. Bullied teenage girl.]' _"She wanted to _hurt_ Hebert." _'__[Wraithbone ships. Empty. Alone. Dead.]' _She rubbed the bridge of her nose, then her temples. That didn't mean anything unless Simurgh was trying to guilt trip the elf about...something something loneliness?

Did the Simurgh just lose her mind?

No.

It was never the first answer. "How much goodwill would Farseer have, right now, if Leviathan _hadn't died?"_

"None," The Number Man said. "She'd be deep in the negatives."

"As it is, she's barely pulling through right? Her storm over New Delhi, all three Endbringers on a target, all of them make it out, people die, nothing to show for it except Scion, who pops up to kill more people." She grabbed her drink then put it down. She didn't feel thirsty anymore. "And he had to, at least those people in that plane."

_'__[Never random.]'_

"Or thought he had to."

_'__[Never random.]'_

Unless you tell me what that means, fuck off already, she thought. "What a mess."

She watched the gaping hole in the sky close, slammed together like a surgeon with a golden suture. She watched the golden man lunge for the Simurgh. There was no real body language there to read. Just aggression on one side. And nothing on the other. It was like Simurgh was frozen. _'__[Waiting.]'_ She twisted away from the searing blows, angling them away from certain spots on her body. _'__[Bases of her wings.]'_

Then it was as if the video flickered. One moment there was a white haired angel, then there was something large, devoid of humanity. A second flicker showed a silver woman. And Scion faltered.

The video paused.

"The fuck was that?" Her power was silent. "The fuck was that?" she asked again to her companions.

Cauldron exchanged looks over her head.

Doctor Mother tapped her pen on the table.

"She called herself Eden," Contessa answered quietly.

_'__[There had been__** two**__.]'_

"Then that's how we get him." She leaned back in her chair. She knew they were looking at her for an answer, but for once she felt pretty good about her place here. If there was one thing her power was great at doing, at the expense of _ruining_ her personal life, it was digging up dirty laundry. She knew everything she never wanted to know about relationships.

That? That had been a _human_ reaction to the death or departure of a significant other that still hurt.

That meant everything.

_'__[There had been two.]'_

"Alright, so I have a few ideas, but first?" Tattletale grinned. "I'm going to need a bit more information about this whole Cauldron shindig you got going on here than what you've decided to hand out. Fair?"

Contessa didn't make the decision. That told her more.

"Fair," Doctor Mother replied. "Welcome to Cauldron, Tattletale." 

Other viewers of the video were focusing on different things.

The PRT Los Angeles conference room was relatively empty today. Some new personnel returning from sabbaticals, leave, holidays needed to be caught up, and others were still running the details on the ground. The large table shaped vaguely like a painters palette with its arrowhead shape and rounded edges was cluttered with paper. It was late, again, a hundred and one priorities taking up precious day time in a city that refused to sleep.

Her job was the actionable. Not the hypothetical. What could be done, now. What can be capitalized on, now.

What the fuck do we do _now?_

Leviathan was dead.

"Do we have the information requested about the killing blow?" Rebecca Costa-Brown asked, hand already held out to receive the thin manila folder. She frowned at it, and glanced over the first page. Parahumans weren't quite as focused on hiding identities in non-Western countries, which made some things easier. She almost snorted at the typical Indian show name, but swallowed it back.

Kill an Endbringer and she will call you whatever you fucking want.

"Status of secondary?"

"Deceased," someone in the room reported.

"Shame," but kinetic force was of little use against Behemoth or the Simurgh anyway. "Wormhole creation and destruction, first name Behar. Aryan descent - " she flicked through the rest of it. Team member of Farsight. She could use that. From observation, there was some reluctant affection there. "Forward the standard offer, double reward, add reconciliation bonus with Avni Singh. With any luck, she'll just show up in New York."

That still got her.

Farseer let the woman walk away because all along, she knew that Behar would answer when called.

And never bothered to say a _single fucking thing._

She nodded at the screen and obligingly it began to play. This had been the seventeenth time she'd seen this from start to finish over the last three days. The first time for this particular team up, but it would be the second night they would have with less than three hours of sleep. It was only the thought that Richards was probably watching this compulsively, even in his sleep, that was keeping her from feeling overworked.

No good deed went unpunished, as the saying goes.

The room hushed like it was a movie theatre. The click-clacking of pens and pencils on desks and low murmurs were the only sounds.

"Ex - excuse me," the lights brightened as her deputy director squinted. "Is Farseer...an alien? You have to admit those ships - "

"She has all the memories and mannerisms of Taylor Hebert," Rebecca said. "Let's …" She sighed, loosening her blouse's tie. "Let's not speculate on that, just yet."

Oh, if only you_knew._

The reveal that Scion had a partner, even if they poorly understood what she'd known for decades caused a slight stir. After watching him single out and murder thousands of people, some affected with something, and some not, it was just one more mark on the column of 'What We Wish We Knew About Scion.'

"Kid's dangerous, even Scion responds," Ramahi said deceptively lightly. That was the cutoff point. If you did something, and Scion showed up, it was automatically the Biggest Thing. Scion never seemed to have a rhyme or reason to why he did what he did. The only standard was that it had to be a disaster.

This counted.

"We don't know why yet," she replied. "You are free to ask her when she wakes up."

"If she wakes up," someone else muttered and she didn't turn around to see who. She knew who it was.

"Don't ruin this for _anyone_, Jacobs," she hissed.

The ending was coming up. Job done, whatever it was, Scion hovered alone in the sky above New Delhi. He looked around, taking a second glance, from someone whom most things didn't warrant a first glance.

_Paranoid._

_"__Focus the big one first,"_ Farseer had said.

_"__But if [Scion]'s agitated? Give him space?"_ she had murmured nervously, right before.

There was something wrong with the girl's power, and she _knew it._ There were ships in the sky made of the same material around her locker, and Farseer didn't show any surprise. But they were empty. Just as lifeless as the rest.

Not the plane.

The plane had been full of lives that were now all gone.

Where _exactly_ did the creature in ENE PHQ come from that day?

Where did _Farseer_ come from?

A natural trigger.

Ships in the sky.

She was going in circles.

For all she knew, she just got a glimpse of what made up Farseer's shard. And it was one no one should have had.

_Like us._

Scion floated over to the MCD building's roof, where a girl with sight powers stood alone in terror. She felt a twinge of guilt at how easy it had been to abandon her. Even knowing that she had her orders. Even with the mistaken belief that she would be safe.

Scion reached out a hand.

By habit, Rebecca found the file in the repository of her mind.

_Emergence of power-induced extra sensory orb on brow, i.e. third eye. Gemma activity stabilized. Granted honorary United States citizenship due to events in New Delhi, in medical containment, LA._

**_Documented Induced Third Trigger._**

Rebecca Costa-Brown's day didn't end when her work hours did. There were a few phone numbers she knew to hang up everything for, no matter how seldom she was called like this. The President. The Secretaries of Defense and State. The Attorney General.

"This is an absolute shit show," Jeremy Matthews, current Secretary of State barked at her. He waved a hand at the screen in front of him, where she knew that video would be playing. She was beginning to hate it.

"We have it under control - "

"You call this _control?_" The stubble on his jaw seemed to rise like bristles on a riled boar. "This on the web, one dead and two in medical containment - "

"With all due respect, sir, yes. As well as could be expected." Better than expected. This was an Endbringer fight with all three of them present you jackass, she thought.

"With all due respect - " his mouth worked. His wide, white mustache twitched. He laughed mirthlessly. "With all due respect, Becca, we both know you mean kiss my ass."

"Kiss my ass, _sir._" She stared him down. "What do you want from me?"

"What do I want?" Behind his glasses, watery blue eyes were wide with fear. "I want - I've got - we've got a teenage Simurgh on our hands with an American citizenship! And you ask me what I want?" He leaned forward over his desk. "Answers! Solutions, damnit!"

"It's not even - " He tried to say something, but she just spoke over him. "It hasn't even been a week. Jeremy, we're trying, but if you tell me to work faster, I _swear to God_ \- "

His eyes darted around the camera. "Richards have anything?"

"Did he give you anything?" She just barely managed to reply without the vitriol threatening to break loose. She knew the man hadn't, but as always she was the one being asked as if her hands weren't tied behind her back. "You want solutions? Give me some breathing room. Reign in Basler."

"What," he croaked. That was never his solution. To give his attack dog of an Attorney General the order to stand down.

"If you don't want to shit out a Presidential Pardon, you get him to stand down and work with us. I need it." She let him see how serious her request was by subtle changes of her body language. Slumping shoulders, drawn expression, minor tick in her right eyelid behind her glasses. "We need the good will, the PR, the illusion of control or we are reaping the whirlwind."

"The President - look, the phone is ringing off the damn hook. We've got India, we've got Germany, England, we've got fucking Russia on the Red Phone and kid's asleep." He spun in his chair, hands up. "With _no fucking eyes!_"

Yes, **that.** Rebecca was this close to obtaining a court order _**requiring**_ Panacea heal Farseer.

"This has the characteristic look and feel of a complete fiasco," Goffin commented from across the other screen, calmly sipping hot chocolate. The bastard was probably wearing slippers under his desk as well.

"We've - "

"Covered that, I know," Vincent Goffin, Secretary of Defense nodded. "I have fewer concerns here. Any risk of sedition so far?" Rebecca nearly sighed in relief as she shook her head. Farseer was a Thinker however. The possibility was guaranteed to cross her mind eventually. "And we managed a score from India, offers look interesting, especially concerning the CUI. Keep me up to date, would you?"

His screen went dark.

Now much calmer, Matthews drummed his fingers on his desk. "Update me first."

Then he too was gone.

Thanks, Goffin, Rebecca thought and wearily began to wind down her night at the PRT Headquarters in Los Angeles.

In PRT ENE in Brockton Bay, Piggot's night was just beginning.

Again.

It was always going to be so fucking inconvenient with the Hebert's wasn't it?

"You've got a visitor."

Danny looked up from the bed of one of the more comfy cells they held fresh triggers and people they didn't want to offend while still keeping them contained and watched. Probably the very same his daughter had been in not too long ago. His eyes were bloodshot and she knew he hadn't slept at all in almost a week. He was rhythmically opening and closing his right fist and managed a weak smile.

Piggot didn't know what she would have done if he had also turned into an elf.

Keeled over and died from a heart attack, probably.

"Annabelle?" His voice sounded as tired as he looked.

His daughter's handler closed her eyes. "Oh, hun."

"Guess it runs in the family."

Piggot muted the mike. "What do you think?"

The woman didn't hesitate, to her credit. "I'll take the new case on, it's fine."

Still, Emily Piggot searched the blonde's face for any sign of uncertainty. "It's likely Taylor will be given other solutions, but we have no problems keeping a familiar, friendly face near."

"Thanks, Director."

You put more of my men in M/S containment, she thought._Don't_ thank me.

Ever.

And don't even get her started about where the unknown teenage Thinker had disappeared off to!

"You're welcome," she said and felt she could be forgiven the stiffness. On her way out, she grabbed the papers from Renick, pulling another all nighter. "Sitrep?"

"Nothing's on fire, no current monster attacks, and the coffee is ok, so the situation is better than it was before," Renick answered. "More seriously though, while testing is still going to take a while, results so far seem to show we aren't going to be dealing with any negative side-effects from Danny Hebert's power. So some good news at least."

Some good news, she thought to herself incredulously.

Some good news.


	16. Interregnum

Leviathan is dead, I thought.

The ocean was hungry. The remnants of the violent turbulence over New Delhi scraped against me. It seeped underneath my skin, into my blood and bone until every inch of me from the tips of my toes to the ends of my hair burned. A large part of me welcomed the pain. It was distant, a layer of separation between me and the agony kept me functional. It kept me grounded as I floated through visions of pasts and futures, the threads forever twisting and turning into themselves like an ouroboros. The snake perpetually eating its own tail promised me in faint whispers that I could be someone else, be something else, that I could fix everything, if I just looked.

The pain was mine. It marked the separation between my being and the hungry expanse. It defined me. My fingers hurt, so I knew I had hands. My toes hurt, so I knew I had feet. My eyes didn't hurt, but my tongue, nose and scalp did. I was mostly intact, I thought, and held on to that pain tightly. If I let go, it was over. It would be easy to get lost in the void, to let the ocean bury me, to let myself scatter into pieces drifting on the currents. I knew I wouldn't be able to find my way back, claw my way up or put myself back together.

Even time would lose track of itself here.

_Look_, a faint, very faint whisper said.

"I am looking," I said. There was a dead woman and her dead two year old son, crushed under the remains of their home when Behemoth shook the earth under the condemned city of New Delhi. The skein of her life was filled with unremarkable events that meant the world to her. I stepped in close, _**before**_, close enough to feel the tiny, insignificant ripple of her death reflected into the ocean. Her essence shattered almost immediately and I caught a flicker, like I had for hundreds before.

Insignificant, but unique.

I steeled myself and reached for the next one. A boy, three years older than me, covered in concrete dust. Leviathan had wanted to escape, and he stood in the way. The force of the impact had liquefied his body and the void of the Endbringer's presence greedily swallowed what remained. The last thought he had was remembering how I promised it wouldn't hurt.

It hadn't.

Leviathan is dead, I thought. This was how I did it. By convincing a boy to kill himself.

I continued to drift.

I looked out at the ocean, boundless, formless and endless. My body burned from the inside out, lightning strikes of agony bolting up and down my spine.

Leviathan is dead. And I was tired.

I felt like I was back in early last semester, October or November when I was pulled aside after the bell by Mr. Quinlan to tell me how good my grades were not. I managed to get two assignments in out of twelve. I remembered standing there hearing about how I could be held back a grade if I didn't do better, if I couldn't get my work in on time or at all. I stood there like a stump, remembering my work covered in grape juice, or missing from my locker and the times when I came home so tired that I skipped dinner and just slept.

I remembered searching for the words to tell him, to condemn him. I remembered searching for the strength or the energy or the motivation to scream into his face. To cry. To do something, anything.

'I understand, sir,' I had replied. I had walked to the bus stop. When the light at the intersection turned green, there was this semi truck. It was a dark blue color with flame decals around the front grill. It had been coming a little fast and it was just this calm, whimsical thought.

About stepping out into the street, when I knew he couldn't avoid me.

The thought had left as soon as it arrived, and the truck had rushed by me. It hadn't mattered much at the time, or any other times. They were stupid, worthless ideas, like wondering what it would be like to walk on the moon.

This time, I thought about letting go. I had the cold, grim feeling that facing the dead was much easier than facing the living. If I wanted to do anything with my life, be anyone, I would have to go back to my body. My broken, weak shell. I could stay here forever, sifting through the threads for solutions, of ways to fix everything, or balance my ledger. I could.

I could stay here until my body rotted away to dust waiting for that perfect future that would never come.

I could still hear Sarah - Lisa's voice.

_"This is you being just as stupid as Emma said you were."_

If nothing else, I couldn't do that to my Dad.

_Stay_, the whisper crept into my ear.

"No," I replied. I could see the ocean move, a moving swell of corrupted eddies and whirlpools, like there was something moving just underneath the surface of the water. Something big. It was keeping its distance, but I could almost feel the laser focus of its attention. I smiled in its general direction. It wouldn't take the bait. None of them would, I thought. Not until the ocean's memory of a searing, golden unlight faded.

Behemoth was underneath that Antarctic peninsula, the void of his presence stationary. The Simurgh was just barely within the upper layers of the atmosphere. The strands of her influence were tattered, but taunt around unsuspecting victims. A young man, around twenty four years of age had already ordered the parts for a homemade bomb vest. His target was the local mall.

I closed my eyes and turned away.

Scion was in...London? Absently listening to a homeless man with a sick dog.

Leviathan was dead, I thought again. It might always feel hollow.

A faintly sung, melancholic low note beckoned me home.

I found myself standing in a formless landscape, spotted with Wraithbone ruins. It was neither hot, nor cold here with a blank ground beneath my feet that defied description. A dense fog shrouded the horizons as faded, transparent ghosts with long ears and thin faces wandered the space. The flickers I had caught were here, dimly shining. The pain followed me as a dim echo.

_Foolish_, a note of discontent said and I glanced around.

Vernasse didn't look too impressed with me, a subtle frown on her brow and the slightest tension of her spear arm as she studied me with a contemplative look in her bright eyes. Her right ear pulled, a tiny twitch as she hesitantly reached out and brushed the red tabard I was wearing with her fingertips.

I knew I looked like death warmed over. If the fact that I was seeing without physical eyes didn't hint that things had deteriorated a bit, the black lines of charred flesh running up and down my body certainly would. I was vaguely aware that I had lost my right pinky and I didn't want to see how many of my toes I still had. Blood was still dripping down my cheeks and I could hear my lips crack as I moved to speak.

"I am not doing it that way again."

Her ear pulled again as her chin made a slight incline in acknowledgement. _You will not have a choice._

"There is always a choice," I gritted out. There had to be. There must be. I just didn't know enough yet on how. I made it this far by winging it, half instinct and half rough guesses that shoveled as much shit in as I could throw out. My first act after getting powers was condemning a plane full of passengers to a fate worse than death. I was the reason the Simurgh attacked New Delhi. I forced a nightmare on a girl two years younger than me so she could get the power I wanted to use. I fought the Simurgh by manipulating people into doing it for me. I killed Leviathan by -

That was not going to be me, ever again.

"I - " I stepped forward, intent on swallowing my pride and asking for help, but my leg gave out underneath me with a wet snap. The pain was suddenly in clear focus, turning my blood to molten lava filled with glass shards. I curled into myself, pressing my shredded face against the cool, hard planes of the armor I was still wearing. There was a note of alarm, warning, somewhere above me and I fought to stay conscious. White spots flared up behind my eyelids as I ground my teeth, trying not to scream.

_Ulthwé_, Vernasse's song said in a questioning tone. A song welled then with three voices. I recognized Vernasse's low register among two others, a man and woman arguing in short, terse notes.

Someone touched me and I stiffened at the new bloom of pain. They withdrew. After a long moment, I heard a whispered call from the other woman.

_Iyanden_.

Hands touched me again and I could feel the pain dull beneath their fingertips.

The numbing fingers gently turned me onto my back and pried my arm away from my face. I caught a glimpse of the scholar in his simplistic robes. His thin face was pinched as he took in the damage. He radiated emotions towards me.

Exasperation.

Concern.

Regret.

Protectiveness.

_Young_, he said sadly.

Crouched above me was the woman with the elaborate hairstyle and decorative robes, the corner of her lip curled in disgust like I was a turd scraped off the bottom of her shoe. She noticed me looking, rolling her eyes.

_Sleep_, she ordered.

My first instinct was to rally against the command. I could feel her derision increase as I tensed to get up. My muscles, my bones and skin screamed and I suddenly wondered why I was fighting. I felt like I was coming apart at the seams. If they wanted me gone, all they had to do was walk away.

Emma wasn't here.

It would only be for a minute, I thought. If I was sleeping, I wouldn't feel the pain. I caught Vernasse's eye from where she stood, observing. My vision was starting to blur, fading and I gathered just enough energy for one last task. I formed the words and gently broadcasted them to her.

_Help me._

_Please._

Darkness closed in swiftly, leaving me staring straight up with empty eye sockets. I didn't know if the cool, liquid I could feel drip down my cheeks were tears or blood. I could hear them still, talking above me. I don't think they knew I could understand some of it, or perhaps they didn't care. I caught isolated words and phrases.

H_uman._

_Soul._

_Stupid._

_Untrained._

_Shortsighted._

_Young, human._

_Young, **eldar.**_

_Fifteen years, to thousand?_

_Will learn._

I woke to brilliant agony. Some instinct saw me moving, trying to crawl out of my own skin, but it just made the bed of nails I was laying on dig in. My right arm felt like it was in a vice, and I pulled at it blindly, feeling a tether and feeling something tear. An alarm went off, screaming into my ears with harsh electronic beeping. I was blind. The room I was in was cold with sterile, pungent smells assaulting my nose.

The door burst open, frantic bleating noises of some language I couldn't understand drawing close. There were a few electronic beeps before the alarm shut off and I became vaguely aware that I was screaming. I scrabbled for the pain, drawing it in, locking it inside as I heard glass breaking. The room became colder as wind from outside blew in. I threw off the sandpaper covers, lurching off the bed. I knew I was going to fall. I don't know where I thought I was going.

Warm arms caught me, lighting up my raw nerve endings as I choked on my tongue.

Keep it in, I thought wildly. Don't let it out, keep it in!

_" - aylor, Taylor, it's okay."_

Annabelle.

_"We're okay, sweetheart. We're okay...can we get anything for her?"_

She pulled me to the floor gently. I felt the cold linoleum tiles under my legs as I tore at the jean jacket she was wearing. I tried to keep it inside, even as I felt myself break. It hit me then like it had just the day after that phone call. Hearing her try to comfort me I realized all over again that I would never see Mom again. The howling wail of a screaming banshee burst from my lips.

Everything I caused, everything I did, I felt like I was falling down a bottomless pit of despair. New Delhi. Twenty one point seventy five million. I had been willing to risk twenty one point seventy five million just to convince myself that I was a good person, that I could be worth something.

That was the kind of hero I was.

I regretted coming back.

_"It's okay, breathe, hun. I got you. I got you."_

Keep it in. Keep it in.

The ocean was hungry.

Keep it in.

No storms, my mind babbled. No storms.

No one else.

_No one else._


	17. Chapter 13

_**E.L.F**_

* * *

"_\- express the deepest gratitude for the aid of India's allies during this trying time while being mindful of the challenges it faces going forward." _The subtitles at the bottom of the TV screen scrolled by, white letters on a black band. The speakers were muted and what few lights remained intact had been dimmed to one setting above off, drowning everything in shadows that flickered back and forth save for one spot of light pulsing. The heart monitor was in the corner, a half dozen colored waving lines scrawling a black screen in the sharp shapes of a frantic heartbeat. The windows were closed, not that it did any good with the glass still blown out, letting a biting cold wind snake through the curtains. Ice crept along the walls and floor and at times, the wind sighed.

There was a ghost in the corner.

"_-Minister would like to reiterate that at this time, there has been no new information on the incident, but talks have been opened with the US President regarding future cooperative efforts."_

"Yeah, I bet." Annabelle Kemper shifted in her chair, pulling her PRT issued jacket a little tighter around her. She fished out her phone from a pocket. "India isn't the only one, you know. Internet is going _crazy_ over you, kid. Well - " she checked herself with a rueful smile. "No one really knows what to think, you know? Farseer made a splash. Check out PHO, it's like an international bazaar exploded on it. We've got Germans, Russians, I think that's _Italian? _Portuguese? And _Chinese…"_

The soft beeping of her heartbeat answered for Taylor Hebert.

Annabelle bit her lip and snuck a glance.

Toss a hot dog into the microwave, leave it on for a bit too long. Until the skin of the sausage bursts open, steaming.

Apply that to the skin of a fifteen year old girl.

Taylor had torn off the bandages again, exposing blackened lines of puckered burns with glimpses of bone white beneath the ruptured muscle. Most was still covered by gauze, some of it leaked through with bright red blood. Her eyes were firmly covered with blindfolds that did nothing to hide the tracks of pale, plastic acid burn grooves down her cheeks. They had to put the IV in her neck after she ripped the last one out and the blankets had been carefully, gingerly replaced, swamping the girl's thin frame. The spot of light in her chest pulsed with a warm light, casting her thin face in sharp relief. Every so often, Taylor flinched and grimaced with pain in her sleep, but didn't make so much as a whimper. She suffered in silence and in a very real way, that was worse than the screaming. There was nothing they could do for her, the doctors had said. There were warnings all over her medical file. Unknown biology. Unknown reactions to pain medications. Saline to keep her hydrated was all they had been willing to commit to, while keeping their 'options' open for a feeding tube and a round of prayers.

"I'm not trying to be, _you know. _They've got like a billion people now and I'm sure most of them are lovely but the Chinese government?" She brushed a lock of blonde hair back behind her ear and absently wished for some ear muffs. Or a hat. "There was this thing two years back, Hot Wire or Hot Flash or Hot something - anyway, energy manipulator, okay? Disappears while in Laos and its this - this _incident. _CUI tried to tell us he's a recaptured fugitive, right? An American citizen with powers literally kidnapped with this bullshit paper thin excuse - "

There isn't a movement so much as the lighting in the room just _shifted_ a little. It sent that familiar spike of ice down her spine. It was the same feeling you get when you turn down a dark alleyway in a bad part of town and you start to consider how many ways things could go wrong. With practised ease Annabelle Kemper ignored it.

If she were to run from every might haves, could haves, she would have run from her job and kept on running.

She turned to face the ghost and found its cat eyes open. Pale eyes that might have been blue in better light had one hell of a thousand yard stare, but nothing beat Taylor Hebert's burnt out eye sockets alive with lightning and ash.

"I'm just saying," Annabelle continued. "Someone with a CUI calling card? Stab them in the face first, ask questions never."

She was paraphrasing official PRT policy.

Semi-official policy.

The ghost's right ear twitched.

"It's been - shit how long has it been?" Eight hours? Nine? She checked her phone. Eleven? Christ. "People are starting to put it together, with Leviathan actually _dead! _Do you know how _amazing_ that is? And like what was different _this _time that we couldn't do last time and - and we've got _names."_

Just cape names. What started out as a list of over fifty had gradually dwindled down, repeated over and over on boards and in the news, until just the same names were said. She didn't care much about the others. Some Indian capes, some German ones, this one Nordic guy.

_Farseer._

"If we ever get around to making a statement, a real official press release on what the _fuck happened _and it was you?"

It would change _everything._

She couldn't hold back the jaw cracking yawn. Eleven fucking hours. She glanced out the broken windows expecting to see the beginnings of dawn behind the Brockton Bay skyline. It was still pitch black, because it was still the dead of winter.

"Am I even - like, can Taylor hear me or am I just…?"

There was a _blink-and-you-miss-it _tug at the corner of the ghost's mouth that could have been anything from a smile to a sneer.

Then it fucking _spoke._

"_She cannot," _the ghost said in a voice that flowed like water.

Annabelle stared.

"You _speak?" _Obviously. Taylor was in no condition to consciously direct a projection, but unconscious power use was just this _thing _with the girl to the point of having a power warning in her file. No one batted an eyelash when the projection didn't disappear when Taylor lost consciousness, but obviously they damn well should of.

She cast about for the unlikely scenario, because unlikely was the name of Taylor Hebert's game. "Are you _independent?"_

A beat of silence. "_Yes."_

"Sorry," her mouth said automatically. "It's been a long day so I'm kind of...slow." Another _blink-and-miss_ tug of the ghost's mouth. "You're independent. Great." That was another five pages of paperwork, minimum. "So are you just hanging out or -"

The room twisted.

The shadows darkened and moved, forming monstrous silhouettes tearing into each other, crawling over each other, biting, scratching, clawing towards the bed.

They couldn't reach it.

The walls were see through. The windows were unbroken and shattered. The dim light of the shining oval in Taylor Hebert's chest was a steady pulse. The heart beat monitor beeped quietly as reality _stopped making sense._

Before she could open her mouth to scream, normalcy reasserted itself. The shadows stopped moving. The windows were broken, letting in the cold winter air as the curtains softly flapped in the breeze. A headache battered its way to the forefront of her consciousness as her stomach flipped upside down and threatened to rebel.

"What the _fuck -"_

"_Protecting," _the ghost said as if nothing had happened.

Annabelle had a hard time focusing on it through the headache.

"Protecting her?" She managed to croak.

This time the tug at the corner of its mouth became a small, indulgent smile.

"_Protecting you."_

The chill that went down her spine then was more than ice. It was liquid lightning, jumping out from her spine to burn a numbing path to her fingers and toes. Her knees buckled and she half fell back into her chair.

When had she gotten up?

The heart monitor beeped from its corner.

"I - " Her voice broke. "I am...going to get coffee."

The ghost inclined its head, acknowledging.

Annabelle fled.

* * *

The coffee machine was a sleek stainless steel and plastic behemoth with a counter all to itself as it burbled away, brewing. The opposite side of the little nook had about twelve different roasts and four different kinds of hot chocolate along with vacuum sealed cups of cream, sugar and cheap little white spoons. Plastic mugs, the kind that had fold-out handles were stacked beside a modest cereal bar rack. Some pencil pusher somewhere had decided to splurge the hospital budget for the sake of their souls and Annabelle loved them for it.

The chill didn't go away with the first testing sip or two creams and a half packet of sugar, nor the third, but it was still soothing. It was something about the act of drinking coffee. It was about doing something so mundane it couldn't be anything but real.

'I didn't sign up for this shit,' Annabelle thought. Then she closed her eyes and groaned. 'I totally did though.'

"Hey, can I get a mug of that?" Something white and red moved in her peripheral vision.

"Sure." She was moving before she managed to get a clear glimpse of her new 'neighbor'. "Oh."

Panacea gave a little wave. "Yeah. Hi."

"Hi," Annabelle let out in a rush of breath. "I thought - you weren't due until tomorrow?"

Amy Dallon's eyebrows shot up. "For who?"

"I mean - " Annabelle floundered for a moment, thrown even as she berated herself for it. Taylor Hebert had been far from the only cape at New Delhi. Far from the only one _hurt,_ probably not even the only one hurt as badly.

'She's my kid though.'

That's what made the difference.

"For Taylor?"

Panacea's mouth twisted briefly as her brown eyes flashed up to meet hers. "Is that what they told you?"

Alarm bells softly began to chime inside her head.

"I'm a handler," Annabelle said self-deprecatingly. "I fill out paperwork and make calls, mostly. A grunt. They don't tell me shit, really." She tried to smile, but she wasn't sure if it came out how it was supposed to. "It's okay, I probably got the details wrong." She didn't. She remembered the phone call, but if there was anything she'd learned over the years it was that being right meant fuck all sometimes. "It's been a long twenty four hours, for everyone."

Amy grabbed the mug as soon as it was full and turned to the other counter. The lack of a response rung in the air as Amy ripped open a packet of sugar and dumped it in. Annabelle held her tongue. It had been a long twenty four hours. Some people dealt with being tired, some people _didn't _and all you could do was figure out which was which and stay out of the way.

One packet of cream went in next along with a half packet of swiss hot chocolate. Amy stirred.

"I'm not healing her."

A thousand different responses leapt in her mind to Taylor's defense, not the least of which was the screaming _why not?_

She knew better though. Years as a social worker taught her a _lot_ about confrontations. Years of legalities drilled into her head as a PRT representative meant she had a good idea of when and where to confront. It tended to piss people off if you confronted them on stuff, especially if they _were_ being stupid.

"Okay," Annabelle replied.

"Okay?" Amy repeated. She stopped mid sip and turned, setting the cup down hard on the counter. "Okay. Aren't you supposed to be some kind of advocate?" The girl sneered. "What kind of handler are you?"

"Hers," Annabelle said. "Not yours."

Something ugly flitted across Amy's face then, but she couldn't say exactly what it was.

"But you'd want me to, right?" Amy nearly cajoled. "Heal her?"

"Sure," Annabelle shrugged, eyeing Panacea carefully. "Depends on why not though."

If it was just to make some kind of twisted statement on who deserved to be healed and who didn't, then Annabelle didn't know what she would think. Nothing flattering. It would be the kind of spite she would expect from anyone else though, almost literally anyone else, but she supposed that was unreasonable of her. No matter her powers, Amy Dallon was still a seventeen year old girl.

Their little nook gained another visitor before Amy could answer. A slightly above average height blonde woman in comfortable sweats and an expensive phone to her ear. With only one hand free, she still expertly poured the last of the kettle after a discerning sniff and crowded the other counter top to grab a cranberry cereal bar.

"I beg your _pardon?" _Carol Dallon spat into the phone trapped between her ear and her shoulder. The wrapper of the cereal bar crinkled in her hands.

The answering voice was small and tinny but Annabelle could just barely hear it.

"_This is considered a matter of national security, ma'am. We are fully prepared to ask a judge if we need to - "_

"Which you do," Brandish snapped back. "And it will be TRO'd so fast your ass will _fucking skip._" Amy's eyebrows flew up into her hairline and Annabelle was sure hers weren't the only ones. "The For Citizens Act does not grant anyone the right to compel service. We got rid of slavery _years _ago."

Whatever the other person on the line had to say, it must not have been very impressive judging by the look of distaste on Carol Dallon's face.

"Let me make this clear, Amy will not be healing _anyone _without her and _my _express permission. And _you _will not be calling me again without a search warrant or a subpoena."

And with that, she hung up. Dallon tore into the cereal bar packet with her teeth and took a rage filled bite of cranberry and nuts.

"Who the hell was that?" Amy asked, seemingly absorbed in stirring more hot chocolate into her coffee.

"PRT, Los Angeles," her adoptive mother said shortly. She was looking up into the far corner, chewing furiously, brows still furrowed in irritation. Her daughter stood beside her, but apart, facing the opposite direction with hunched shoulders and distant look in her eyes as she absently stirred. Carol Dallon was striking both in and out of costume. It didn't matter if she was in a business suit or sweat pants, her back was straight and almost vibrated with tension.

The two painted a picture Annabelle had seen before. Before the PRT, when she was a social worker in Boston during family sessions. She wasn't a licensed therapist, who's job had been to fix issues, but rather to _identify_ potential ones. To find the broken or strained links.

Brandish's body language asked for no comfort, from anyone, and Amy's said that she had none to give. Was she seeing things? She was probably seeing things. It was beyond late. The most rational explanation was that both of them were introverted people, unused to or unwilling to reach out to others.

She returned her attention to her own cooling cup of coffee.

Carol Dallon sighed almost explosively. "How often are you up this late?"

Amy shrugged a shoulder.

"Amy."

It was the teenager's turn to sigh, glancing around for a clock before giving up and fishing out a phone from beneath the voluminous robes of her costume.

"Three out of seven?" Amy hazarded a guess and Annabelle took her next sip a bit too quickly. Three out of seven days? It was _six in the morning._

Carol turned. It was a partial, aborted movement like half of her wanted to confront and the other half was shying away.

"That stops," was all the woman said and Annabelle couldn't bite her tongue fast enough to stop the idle

"Insomnia?" from slipping out.

Because if it was some kind of sleeping disorder or anxiety disorder you couldn't just order it to _stop. _It was the equivalent of asking a chronically ill person if they had just tried not being sick. It did not work that way, and insisting otherwise could easily cross the line to being actively harmful.

Amy's face blanched white, then flushed red. "I just can't, sometimes."

Carol opened her mouth, but after glancing around the little nook seemed to visibly rethink what she had been about to say. "Dr. Bouras says you visit. To heal?"

"Yeah," came out of Amy hesitantly.

"I don't want you healing while tired." Carol said and immediately held up a hand to forstall argument. "I don't want you healing while tired," she repeated. "I don't want you getting used to healing while tired and I don't want you to feel like you _have_ to heal, even when tired."

"I'm not going to make a mistake," Amy said.

Carol's blue eyes flickered. That had scored a hit somewhere.

"That's not the point."

"That's the only point."

"Amy, it's association," the woman pointed out. "If you make a habit of studying while tired, you are going to associate studying with being tired. I don't want you feeling like you are doing a late night session healing _all the time."_

That drew Panacea up short. "Oh."

A sardonic twist came onto Carol's lips. "I am going to ask again, how often are you up late?"

Amy's gaze found the ground. She didn't answer.

Carol breathed in through her nose like a bull, nostrils flaring.

"I see." Carol said flatly. Her eyes cut across and Annabelle found herself clutching her cooled coffee cup to her chest when Brandish looked over her. "Handler?"

"For Farseer," Annabelle confirmed. "I've been informed that treatment from New Wave has been - " she searched for the word - shitcanned- and then searched again for the diplomatic one. "Postponed until further notice?"

Amy was stirring again.

The tactile, repetitive behavior struck Annabelle as odd. How much stirring did the coffee need? It wasn't until Amy took a sip that she could see why.

Amy Dallon's hands were shaking.

"That is correct," Carol was saying. It was delivered dispassionately, a bland voice for a bland delivery. "It is nothing personal."

But it was personal. For the girl lying in a hospital bed covered in electrical burns with burned out twin ashtrays for eyes, it could not be any more personal. Some of her thoughts must have shown on her face, because Carol Dallon shifted with slight unease.

"It's complicated," she offered.

It's complicated.

"It's complicated," Annabelle repeated. She drained the last of her coffee and tossed the cup into the half-full garbage can. "Explain it to me. Bad power interaction?"

"I can't," Amy whispered. And then again, louder. "I can't." The next words seemed to burst from her chest. "I can't stop _seeing it! _Her organs, her cells, her blood, her DNA! And it doesn't - I can - I can almost _see _it. The missing piece."

Her hands trembled.

"I keep thinking that all I need is another glimpse and I'll solve the puzzle. I just need to touch her." Her eyes tracked unerringly towards Taylor's room.

Carol stepped in her line of sight. "Which you won't."

Amy shook herself and tossed the half finished cup of coffee away. "I won't. It won't be - I mean, I can't fully _see _what I would be doing anyway. There's like, a quarter of her DNA missing. I might fuck it up and _then _where would we be?" Amy said with dark humour. "She's better off with someone else, or shit, she's a Trump." Amy waved a dismissive hand. "She can figure it out."

"She unconscious," Annabelle pointed out and was rewarded with a nasty little smirk.

"Since when has _that_ ever stopped her?"

* * *

I bit back the scream as the feedback tore my left pinky finger right off my hand in a shower of purple sparks and bright red blood. Iyanden caught the severed digit with one hand and my flailing arm with the other. The pain numbed immediately, letting me swallow the scream down to join the rest festering in my stomach.

He held my hand gently as he worked on reattaching it and I watched him. I tried to feel what he was doing. I tried not to feel like a failure.

It was a mixed success.

Iyanden had his pale hair pulled back in a high ponytail that just highlighted the sharp planes of his thin face. His plain scholarly looking robes were splattered with my blood and singed in a few places from misfires. I don't really know if that was his name, but it was what the others called him. He didn't seem to mind when I called him that, so Iyanden it was.

_Learning well, _he sung.

"No, I'm not," I said.

His right ear flicked back and forth in an expression I was beginning to think was amusement. The barely there smile he flashed just reinforced that interpretation. Maybe he was mocking me. Maybe he found it genuinely funny. Maybe it was both.

_Only finger, not hand, _he pointed out. At my dubious expression, his ear flicked again. _Quit?_

I flexed my hands. I was still missing my right pinky and about half of my toes. My eyes. I was a goddamn mess kept together by willpower and _something. _They said I could fix it. That I could heal myself. And the Eldar seemed so _sure, _I could not help believing them. I wanted to learn how to do it. I needed to learn how. And really, what was a little dismemberment now compared to being a match for Panacea later?

_Ynnashar?_

"No," I said and steeled myself for more pain. I asked what that meant once. What they called me now. _Ynnashar. _It probably meant slug or something. They wouldn't say. "I'm not quitting."

I reached out to the ocean.

And it was _hungry_.


	18. Chapter 14

Welcome to the Parahumans Online message boards.

You are currently logged in, **Vista** (Verified Cape) (Ward) (Brockton Bay ENE)

You are viewing:

• Threads you have replied to

• AND Threads that have new replies

• OR private message conversations with new replies

• Thread OP is displayed.

• Ten posts per page

• Last twenty-five messages in private message history.

• Threads and private messages are ordered chronologically.

**Topic: Maelstrom Thread**

In: **Boards ► Places ► America ► Brockton Bay**

Funeral Pyre (Original Poster)

Posted on January 4th, 2011:

On January 3rd, a huge storm appeared over the city of Brockton Bay and remained stationary, despte a lack of inclement weather. These are the facts as they are known at this time:

#1 Early reports of the storm's center in proximity to Winslow High School. Later confirmed as originating from within Winslow High itself. The school has been evacuated and remains closed until further notice.

#2 A section of the school's interior is reportedly covered by a bone-like material. Later confirmed to be a section of the students' lockers.

#3 Initial speculation re: the bone material being the work of an ABB-affiliated Tinker dismissed by the PRT and Protectorate.

#4 Storm purportedly engulfed two commuter aircraft in its vicinity. No wreckage has yet been located.

#5 Storm speculated to be the result of a trigger event. Later confirmed by a student's cellphone video, currently difficult to source due to removals for its graphic content and incidental reveal of the new cape's identity. Brockton Bay Daily News named this new cape "Maelstrom", and the thread name was changed as other news agencies started using that alias for the cape in question.

#6 Storm dissipated two days later, on the 5th.

#7 More recent video depicts humanoid figure exiting Winslow, notably sporting tapered ears. Elf?

#8 Security videos from buildings near the PRT offices on the 5th show the same figure storming out of the PRT offices as Maelstrom's 'storms' reappear throughout the city.

#9 Brockton Bay's 'Elf' later spotted half an hour later parting the water along the docks like an angry American Moses. Many believe said Elf to [i]be[/i] Maelstrom given these events, especially given that Maelstrom's father, Danny Hebert, was photographed entering the bay and calmed her down from whatever had upset her shortly afterwards.

#10 The bone-like material has reportedly been removed from Winslow.

[size=1][i]edited January 13th, 2011[/i][/size]

**(Showing Page 16 of 37)**

**► XxVoid_CowboyxX**

Posted on January 14th, 2011:

I wonder if she's a Case 53.

► **Sam_the_man** (Veteran Poster)

Posted on January 14th, 2011:

XxVoid_CowboyxX

I wonder if she's an alien invader from the _sttaaarrrrrssssss~_

► **Highfort96**

Posted on January 14th, 2011:

I wonder if she's going to be in the next lord of the rings movie?

► **Judge** (Moderator)

Posted on January 14th, 2011:

I wonder if you can all get back on topic? [/not so subtle hint]

►** XxVoid_CowboyxX**

Posted on January 14th, 2011:

Ok, taking teh hint and all that. Does anyone know what they're going to do with her costume?

► **Double-O-Mali**

Posted on January 14th, 2011:

XxVoid_CowboyxX

well, the two things that spring to me mind is either something santa or dnd/lotr related.

► **RocksFall** (Veteran Poster)

Posted on January 14th, 2011:

Double-O-Mali

Putting anyone in green tights is prob the fastest way to make them turn to _evviiilllll_

So I'm expecting something dnd/lotr.

► **Vilebile**

Posted on January 14th, 2011:

Could also go Vulcan if theyre a Trekkie.

I prefer the dark elves myself. Um… are we allowed to list possible cape names even if the evidence is rather strong about identities?

► **Sothoth** (Veteran Poster)

Posted on January 14th, 2011:

RocksFall

Of course you would. Heretic. :p

Vilebile

Legally it's in a grey area with extenuating circumstances. Depends on how hard the PRT wants to push things. The fact this thread isn't locked yet doesn't suggest they care that much about cape name suggestions. It's not official yet after all. Also, a Vulcan costume would result in the owners of Star Trek becoming involved. Of course, she coud do corporate sponsorships. Remember Pepsi Girl?

►** Evil_Kirk** (Trekkie)

Posted on January 14th, 2011:

Vilebile

You know people DO occasionally do surgery for elf ears. I saw it in a star trek documentary a few years ago. Before the whole debacle with the crazy master fan kind of ruined things. :(

Sothoth

I remember Pepsi Girl. Didn't she get fired for being caught with coke? :3

[b]**End of Page. 1, … 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, … 37**

* * *

**Topic: ENDBRINGER THREAD #39**

**(Thread Locked)**

In: **Boards ► Places ► World**

**Dragon** (Original Poster) (Verified Cape)

December 5th, 2010:

The next Endbringer attack is expected sometime between early to mid-February 2011. Analysis expects the attack to be either Behemoth or Simurgh. Preparations are already underway by the UN, Red Cross & Crescent, the USA Federal Disaster and Endbringer relief fund, along with the PRT, the Guild, the World Economic, Natural Disasters and Governmental Defense Group. Discussion in this must stay on topic though, and Staff will enforce that if need be.

**EDIT;** The Simurgh attacked New Delhi on January 16th, 2011; a quarantine is not yet in effect although a blockade has been implemented. The PRT and Guild offer condolences for those lost and sincere thanks and appreciation for those who joined the fight or helped with the evacuation. Special thanks and consideration is being offered to Panacea and Farseer for their help in events.

The Indian Government is remaining quiet while they take stock of the situation, and it is unclear when they will speak on what happened. The PRT has made its response known, which can be read in the "PRT Press Conference Thread" over HERE.

**MODERATOR EDIT; A Zero-Tolerance Policy is in effect in this thread until further notice. Be civil, be polite, stay on topic, and leave the theatrics/drama/hysteria out. Failure to comply will result in infractions and/or threadbans.**

**(Showing Page 68 of 93)**

**► Wingless**

Posted on January 28th, 2011:

WingedOne

I'm just saying, no one knows who the fuck Farseer is, but the rumors going around are already terrifying.

► **Sonic_Boom**

Posted on January 29th, 2011:

Wingless

The rumors seem like paranoid fearmongering. I don't buy it.

►** Gomer**

Posted on January 29th, 2011:

SamIAm

Dude, I have an uncle who fought there. He says that the rumors are probably underplaying just how much bullshit Farseer pulled out of her ass.

► **0495813n**

Posted on January 29th, 2011:

So do we know anything about the change in Endbringer attacks here?

►** DaFuk**

Posted on January 29th, 2011:

0495813n

Nope. As someone very eloquent once said, we don't know shit, beyond the bare basics and a lot of rumors and hearsay. And we won't know actual shit for a couple more days/weeks at the very least. We know something major happened, but not exactly _what_ yet.

► **Arcane_Hermit** (Veteran Poster)

Posted on January 29th, 2011:

… Had to deal with undue hell, but when I came back on the RL section to see what horrors happened.

And it looks like we have an Angel alert, again. And another quarantine, and another headache. "Just as planned" aside, can't help that shaky feeling on the disaster's that's just happened, again.

Real shame I can't even offer condolences right. Just… Give respects to the unfortunate victims who frankly, HAVE to go through proper protocols, and security. And pray or hope none of them are subtly enough affected to cross the border, as usual.

Really, hate how this keeps on happening when Ziz wakes up. Especially when every time it happens, I occasionally lose a real online pal in hand.

**EDIT; **Wait the fuck, India isn't quarantining?

► **Boblob** (Veteran Poster)

Posted on January 29th, 2011:

Sam_the_man

That sounds like crazy-talk.

► **Sothoth**

Posted on January 29th, 2011:

DaFuk

Given the way the authorities and heros have been acting, along with this being a Simurgh attack and Scion of all people killing people en mass, I'd say that whatever happened was a big enough deal to have rattled everyone. Only question here is in the details, but like you said, we won't get most of them for some time yet.

► **Sam_the_man** (Veteran Member)

Posted on January 29th, 2011:

Boblob, did you mean to respond to SamIAm? Because I wasn't involved in this conversation until you pinged me. And sheesh, reading this thread is kind of scary, and no one knows all of what is happening.

►** Boblob** (Veteran Member)

Posted on January 29th, 2011:

Sam_the_man, uhm, whoops? Sorry man, my bad. :(

**End of Page****.****1****, …****66****, ****67,**** 68, ****69****, ****70****, …****93**

**(Showing Page 93 of 93)**

► **Unit01** (Not An Actual Mechanical Abomination)

Posted on February 4th, 2011:

Fep

Wait, there selling the debris? Really? Fucking really? :wtf:

► **KFPeein**

Posted on February 4th, 2011:

Unit01

Aliens. And money. Nuff said.

►** D3br1S**

Posted on February 4th, 2011:

Fep , Unit01

tbh i wuldnt b surprised if india kept most of teh stuff frm teh storm can u imagine wut kind of shit ther wuld b?

► **Best Indian Tinker** (Verified Cape) (Humble)

Posted on February 4th, 2011:

That stuff would be sent to Ahmedabad probably, under lock and fucking key. That's where the Physical Research lab is for space. Area 51, except civilized. Vimana here we come! :D

**► HotterLass**

Posted on February 4th, 2011:

D3br1S

Grammar. And spelling. And grammar.

Edit- Also, to stay on topic and not get infracted, I wonder if they're going to make that day a global holiday?

►**Sothoth**

Posted on February 4th, 2011:

HotterLass

That depends on whether Leviathan is actually dead as has been claimed, even though it's looking likely. The authorities won't have confirmation for that for at least a year, but given the statements already made by various government groups, it seems like a good bet. :D

That said, we still don't know what is up with Scion going homicidal, so even if Leviathan is dead we may still end up worse off than before events started. :(

KFPeein

That may be the case, but its also the site of a Simurgh zone. Dangerous and risky for civilians to mess with that stuff to say the least.

►** Fep**

Posted on February 4th, 2011:

Unit01

They are actually selling storm crap. I have proof. Look at this shit. Crazy money.

***Edited by moderator - Link removed. Please don't link to pirate sites and/or sites selling illegal content. Also, this is a zero tolerance thread, take a minimum of six months off from the site while staff look over if we need to escalate even further here. For anyone else reading this, while this site reaches across the globe, its actual servers are in Canada, which means the site runs off of Canadian law. You DO NOT want to link to places selling illegal content by Canadian law.* - Ibat**

► **Boron trifluoride** (Highly Toxic)

Posted on February 4th, 2011:

***Edited by moderator - Link removed. Reposting a removed link was not a good idea.* - Judge**

►** BigBrain** (SuperThinkerExtraordinaire) (Not An Actual Thinker)

Posted on February 4th, 2011:

Aliens can't get you for stolen possessions if you sell it first, taps forehead.

► (Moderator)

Posted on February 4th, 2011:

**And that is enough of that. Locking thread for review. Whether this thread opens back up again depends on what we find. There WILL be infractions. Zero tolerance means zero tolerance.**

**End of Page. 1, … 91, 92, 93**

* * *

**Topic: WILL CRIMINAL CHARGES BE BROUGHT DUE TO WHAT HAPPENED DURING THE STORM? (Thread Locked)**

In: **Boards ► Places ► America ► Brockton Bay**

**INH** (Original Poster)

January 11th, 2011;

We all know that two planes went down on the 3rd due to Maelstrom's actions. 46 people were seriously hurt and injured with the first plane crash, but the second plane went missing and is believed that have gone down somewhere in the arctic. No debris has been found, and with the current weather if they did go down in the Canadian arctic it's unlikely they survived.

[b](Showing Page 6 of 9)[/b]

► **FlowerPower** (Unverified Cape)

Posted on January 12th, 2011:

SnickerSnack

Listen, I've been paying attention in the Maelstrom thread, and it's one thing that this kid lost her secret identity due to that first video and her later temper tantrum, but those videos also kind of show that she kinds of needs serious help and supervision she probably won't get elsewhere, and she's already caused injuries and deaths. She's powerful enough to fuck up a lot, but she seems to have serious anger issues as well.

► **PsychoPoet**

Posted on January 12th, 2011:

I can tell you that The Cape Regulation Party over here in not so merry old England is going to use what's going on your side of the Atlantic to push through some much needed laws. This has gone well past the point of believability for accidents and gone straight into blatantly malicious homicide. I pray the victims and their families get justice for the hundreds of deaths and suffering this young punk has caused, unlike what happened with the Temple Meads attack(1).

(1) For all you who have forgotten the attack nearly five years ago when Detonate turned every Pigeon at the Bristol Temple Meads into biological bombs causing hundreds to die? You know the one that all of you bastards have forgotten about?

***Please stop spamming other threads, I understand from several of your posts that you had family at Temple Meads but repeatedly bringing it up in multiple different threads is a violation of the rules. Stay on topic and please don't also bring your politics into it as well. You are on thin ice as it is. Stop.* - Judge**

►** eighteenzombies** (nomnomnom)

Posted on January 12th, 2011:

As much as I agree that that's offtopic, he does have a point that this girl has hurt a lot of people and needs punished for that.

►** PsychoPoet**

Posted on January 12th, 2011:

Hurt? Try killed! And don't any of you other villainous cocksuckers make excuses for the murderous cunt!

***Consider yourself permanently banned from the thread, as well as banned from the forum for a week considering your history. Do not disobey staff directives again, or you may be looking at a month long forum ban at a minimum.* - Judge**

► **Bagrat** (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)

Posted on January 12th, 2011:

There have been some arrests already. Most Court Records are publicly available after all. This shitshow isn't over yet.

**End of Page.** **1**, **… 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9**

**(Showing Page 9 of 9)**

► **Scriv** (Moderator)

Posted on January 13th, 2011:

Well, that escalated quickly. **Thread locked.**

**End of Page.1, … 7, 8, 9**

* * *

**Topic: KITTIES! WHY? BECAUSE KITTIES!**

In: **Boards ► Watercooler Talk**

**ThatInsaneGuy** (Original Poster)

November 28th, 2010

So we all know that kitties and cats are awesome, so here is our thread to link to neat videos and pictures and clips of them being adorable fuzzballs. :D

**(Showing Page 30 of 30)**

► **Stalking Tanuki** (Veteran Poster)

Posted on January 13th, 2011;

This cat has seen some things. _Terrifying_ things. :3

► **Ibat** (Moderator)

Posted on January 13th, 2011;

Hehe, that shit is amusing Tanuki. Also, threadtax.:D

Unlikely Friends!

**End of Page. ****1, 2, 3, … 28, 29, 30**

* * *

**Topic: 2011 India Endbringer Attack Update (SUPER IMPORTANT NEWS)**

**(Thread Locked) (Thread Pinned)**

In: **Boards ► Places ► World**

**Judge** (Original Poster) (Moderator)

Posted on February 16th, 2011;

Hello ladies and gentlemen. After discussion among staff, it was decided that today I would be the one to declare some super joyful news (after we made a subforum exclusively for talking about this subject alone). This honestly has me choked up to announce it, and has been confirmed and verified by the PRT, Protectorate, The Guild, the US State Department, India's government, and even the CUI (though news from the CUI is always considered suspect, it does back up what the other national governments and organizations have said). That is why every user here has received a board-wide notice. News organizations across the globe are just now being made aware of what we are about to tell you here.

The news you're all waiting for?

Leviathan is dead!

Leviathan was killed in India (Leviathan was also present and hostile during the attack by the Simurgh), and the Simurgh's attack on India is officially considered to have failed in its main objectives.

Every person at India who fought against the Simurgh played a role not only in stopping the Simurgh, but also in helping bring about Leviathan's death, but these are the names of the individuals that played the biggest roles in actually making it happen.

They are:

**#1**. Mjolnir (now known as Erik Olsson. May he **Rest In Peace**)

**#2**. Farseer

**#3**. दूरनज़र (best English translation is "Farsight")

**#4**. अंतरिक्ष की राजकुमारी (best English translation is "Princess Of Space")

**#5**. Le Faucon Blanc (English translation is "The White Falcon")

**#6.** Die Heilige Truppe (English translation is "The Holy Troop").

Also of note, these groups also helped determine that the Simurgh's goals failed and that the situation did not require quarantine of New Delhi, and they also deserve a great deal of appreciation for their work:

**#1**. The Parahuman Response Team

**#2**. The Protectorate

**#3**. WEDGDG

**#4**. The Guild

**#5**. The Red Fist

In order to avoid the news of this wondrous event from clogging up things, a new subforum will be created solely for celebrating and talking about the deaths of the Endbringers. And yes, we are very much aware that multiple Endbringers attacking at once is a new and terrifying thing. Future Endbringer threads will have new thread-rules put in place to address this as well.

Today the world gained a bit of hope. We now know the Endbringers can not only be stopped, but that they can be killed. Today is a day of celebration! :D

**End of Page. 1**

* * *

**Private Messages from Gallant:**

**Vista**: How is it going? You can tell me, right?

**Gallant**: It's...frustrating. They want me to do the same thing ten times and then another thing twenty times. I tell them what I can do and no one listens.

**Vista**: That sounds great. /s

**Gallant**: My initial test wasn't anywhere near this bad.

**Vista**: Guess they want to make sure what changed with your power maybe? Like super duper sure?

**Gallant**: Maybe. Hey lunch break is over, talk to you later okay?

**Vista**: I'll hold you to that!

**Private Messages from Battery:**

**Vista**: Hey, can I get console duty? I need out of the house.

**Battery**: Yeah, I can help make sure that happens. If you need anything else, just tell me, k?

**Vista**: Thanks. Appreciate it.

**Private Messages from Miss Militia:**

**Miss Militia**: Hey Vista, can you come to the Rig real quick? Armsmaster wants to talk with you. Something super important came up, and he wants to tell you what to expect before you hear anything from the PRT and from him 'officially'.

**Vista**: O...kay? Did Clock mess something up? Or did someone else get hyrt?

**Miss Militia**: No one is in trouble and no one is hurt. We'll be able to tell you more in person.

**Vista**: K, be there soon

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Missy Biron hated Monopoly.

She had a love-hate relationship with board games, but it was mostly hate. Looking at a board game meant to be played with friends or family had a habit of reminding her how much life sucked. Especially her life. Friends? Kind of. Family? Forget it. Which was why she found herself counting out two big ones out of a pile of twenties as the bank while her shoe languished in the Grand Canyon. Because she hated Monopoly, and it seemed was the _only one_ that hated it. Board games meant competition and competition meant arguments, oneupmanship and cheating. There was nothing good about board games, not even when it was just Chris and Dennis fighting over the dice. Which meant there was nothing good about Monopoly.

She'd been outvoted.

"Two hundred for Avni." Avni Singh was an Indian girl with brilliant green eyes and heavily tinted goggles made for a cyclops. She was still dressed in hospital pajamas. The simple white shirt that buttoned up in the back, white pants of the same material with Alexandria sneakers. She was only a year older and Vista had wished more than once for another girl on the team. One that wasn't a complete and total jerk like Stalker. Wish granted.

In the worst way possible.

The only reason Stalker wasn't going to jail was because she was in a coma, Dean was being retested, and she was off the team, indefinitely. It was something something Thinkers think Scion non-euclidean spacial warping that she didn't quite get the technobabble, but it meant something big. Big enough that she was here in LA, California. Big enough that she got a new team. That was where Avni came in. She'd been in medical containment for a while and was still being tested. Reason for the weird goggles? She had a third eye.

That _kills_ people.

She didn't know much about second triggers, but if they were anything like first ones, then they were _awful._

Avni was a _third_ trigger.

Yikes.

She forked over the play cash, pouting only a little. Okay, maybe a lot. Being bank sucked and it just got worse when you were _poor._

Her roll. The urge to warp space a _little_ to see how she could mess with the dice was ignored. Six.

Yes? _Yes! Pass Go!_

She counted out another two hundred for herself and then raised her voice to make sure she was heard. "Mike roll next."

"- there is going to be no end to this shitshow, Glenn, I'm telling you." Mike's end of the table looked like kindergarten had vomited all over it. It was covered in blank paper, colored pencils and crayon along with those letter blocks stolen from some baby somewhere, lots of sawdust, monopoly money and a giant caramel frappuccino. He had his cellphone trapped between his ear and his shoulder as he sketched out another costume, blue highlights this time. He grabbed the dice, rolled and moved his wheelbarrow five spaces landing on the Louisiana Purchase. He pulled his phone away and reached for his pile of money. "Buying that." After handing over the money he held up his latest drawing so their last player could take a look at it. "Behar?"

"Better," Avni's friend? Sister? said with a noticeable accent as she rolled the dice. She then groaned as she nudged her thimble into jail. "Shit."

"Pffft." Vista clapped a hand to her mouth immediately, but the damage was already done. She didn't just 'pfft' the Endbringer Slayer, did she?

She did.

She totally did!

Behar Şehîd was the kind of woman that looked like she could be a model, but in a good way and not blonde bimbo way. Her hair was mostly Avni's shade of dark, dark red-brown, but she had a lock of pure white on her hair line. There were other patches of albino on her scalp along with pale blue eyes that gave her an exotic look even in jeans and a red sweater.

She also killed Leviathan.

Which was _crazy._

Her power was wormholes. She could touch any object and link it to any other object she'd ever touched before. Once linked she could travel between the two points or de-link them. The de-linking destroys the object. Demonstrating that was why there was a lot of sawdust on the table. And apparently anything touching the object gets destroyed at the same time. Like an Endbringer. Not all of it. Leviathan's corpse was out there somewhere, probably a government lab. They had a weak point, as much as any of them could be 'weak.' Point was, you break it, they die and Behar broke it.

Taylor Hebert used Avni to make sure she got the chance to.

Hebert was the reason she was on this team.

Or more like, Hebert's _storms_ were the reason she was on this team.

Avni grinned the kind of grin Dennis would have called 'shit eating' as she rolled. That grin wilted when she pulled yet another chance card and ended up trotting her rich ass car piece to jail.

_"Ha!"_ Vista blurted out. "I take it back, roll chance cards. Roll _all_ the chance cards."

"Do I really have to?" Avni said with a whine. Her accent sounded like she came right off Brockton Bay's streets. There was a story there Vista wasn't sure she wanted to know. The Indian girl clutched her cash like it was her first born.

" - an elf. Figured we want to go the opposite way with presentation." Mike said as he grabbed the dice. He pulled the phone away again. "House rules," he sang as his dice clattered to the table. The cafeteria in the LA PRT building was way nicer than Brockton Bay's, which was all kinds of unfair. Everything looked brand new with white shiny plastic and padded chairs and a tablet for ordering food during meal hours and a snack bar open 24/7. "Aaannnd buying that too."

"It's a stupid rule," Behar grumped, counting out half of her cash to hand over so she could get out of jail on her turn.

"Bail is an _awesome_ rule," Vista countered, taking the money. A dice roll later and she was taking Avni's money too.

Okay, so being bank was pretty alright. Lots of -

What was that word?

Sadden - schaden - schadenfreude.

That.

She was still not going to win though.

As Mike rolled again, still talking to his boss on the phone, Vista was in the perfect position to see out the cafeteria door and down the hall to the elevator doors. They opened and out stepped this guy with wide dark sunglasses and a white costume with a green tabard like some kind of medieval knight and Eidolon.

_And they were coming this way!_

Vista sat up straighter and reflexively searched for wrinkles in her costume to straighten. Avni followed her line of sight and also sat up.

"Hey Cad!" She called down.

"Hey, squirt." Mr. White and Green's tanned face broke into a wide grin, reminiscent of Dean's smile as he raised a hand in greeting. Eidolon passed them with a nod of the head, heading straight for the snack bar. Guess he was hungry? As soon as 'Cad' reached them, he plopped into a chair on the table across from them. "Ooh, monopoly. Who's winning?"

Avni and Behar just kind of looked at each other.

"500."

"650."

"Damn," Avni muttered.

Mike took a big fat slurp of his frappuccino. "825."

They looked at him in shock and betrayal.

"My man!" Cad snickered, leaning forward and holding up a fist. Mike bumped it, ignoring the glares he was getting. "And you must be Vista? Did I get that right?"

"Yeah," Vista said, glad he hadn't called her squirt number two.

"Caduceus," he introduced himself with a nod. "On loan from PRT Toronto. I'm this one's doc. Speaking of," he turned back to Avni and smiled more gently. "Tests all came back finally, green across the board. Just keep those goggles on and you're free to be discharged tomorrow morning."

"Yes!" Avni pumped a fist.

Behar shrugged one shoulder and ran a hand through her hair. "About time." Her blue eyes fixed on Cad. "Couldn't have waited till tomorrow?"

"_Well_ I'm not actually going to be here tomorrow." His smile disappeared. "Been cleared to work on Farseer, I fly out in two hours."

Vista felt her eyebrows jump.

Oh.

Oh _wow._

That was kind of a big deal. Last she had heard, _no one_ could heal Farseer. Not even Panacea, and Panacea could heal everything short of death and brain damage.

"I thought - " Vista started and stopped. "Uh, congratulations?"

Caduceus barked a laugh. "Right? She's a tough cookie, I'll give her that. Her entire medical rap sheet is no bueno, do not fucking -" Mike gave him a stink eye. " - touch. God the tests alone...I think I earned my degree a third time over. Can't touch my cellular time manipulation. No pressure."

Right, no pressure.

They continued talking, catching up or just joking around, she wasn't sure. She kind of lost track, just barely remembering to roll the dice on her turn.

God, this meant someday _soon_ this Endbringer kill team was going to be expected to _kill Endbringers._ It was all just starting to hit her, to become real. Leviathan was dead. _Dead_, and she was sitting next to two of the people involved in killing it. Soon, there was going to be a _third_ on the team. An odd tremor ran down her right arm. Vista clenched her hands into fists in her lap so no one could see her shake.

_No pressure._

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of a blue-green and she turned in time to see Eidolon take a seat like it was a normal thing for him to do.

It - it wasn't like he didn't need to sit or anything but it was just bizarre seeing him at a cafeteria table with a cup of coffee, straight black by the smell of it, and a pear.

_A pear._

He noticed her look. "Holding up alright?"

"Yes?" She inwardly cursed as her voice squeaked. "I mean, yes, I'm fine."

He chuckled. "It's okay if you're not, we kind of sprung this on you."

That's when she noticed everyone had gotten really quiet. Eidolon's cup of coffee disappeared into his oversized hood for a moment. "Thank you for sticking around," he began. "We kind of sprung this on _all_ of you and I apologize for it." He paused. "You might have noticed, we pulled some strings. Vista is here from East-North-East branch of the Protectorate in Brockton Bay, Caduceus from Toronto and the two of you," He gestured with the pear. "On loan from the Indian government. That because we believe that we have a real chance to make a difference here and by we, I mean the Federal government of the United States."

Oh okay.

_No pressure._

"We're still hammering out the small details, but you've probably heard why you're all here."

"Killing Endbringers," Behar calmly stated.

"Right." Eidolon paused again and Vista got the strangest feeling that he wasn't used to this. The small group speech making thing or maybe it was a speaking to _this_ group thing that was the problem. He sighed. "I'm not going to lie to you, it's a tall order. Leviathan _wasn't planned._ We're trying to make lightning strike two more times."

"Only _twice_?" Behar said with a mocking undertone. Avni hissed and kicked her under the table. "That's all?"

For a second, Eidolon _froze._ Then he relaxed, shrugging his shoulders. "We hope."

"Hope?" Behar murmured.

"Hope is a dangerous thing," Avni quietly said. "We shouldn't rely on hope alone."

"Well said," Behar replied with that kind of sharp edged smile.

"No, we shouldn't," Eidolon agreed. "We're here because hope got us this far but we can take it further. Unfortunately, that does bring me to our current issue. Farseer."

"That's _my_ job," Mike said. He tucked a red colored pencil behind one ear. "In three words or less, describe our resident elf? And no, you can't use the term elf."

Behar looked away, twirling a lock of hair around a finger, but her jaw was clenched like she was grinding her teeth. "Arrogant."

Avni just smiled sadly, re-adjusting the black band of her goggles. "Intense? Really strong?" and then she shrugged.

Caduceus tapped the table with a finger. "Delicate?"

Vista sat there like a bump on a log.

If she was going to be completely honest?

Taylor Hebert terrified her.

Part of it was Stalker because yeah, if she was bullied into her trigger she wouldn't want to associate with anyone they hung out with either. Chris said she was cool, but he had also only ever saw her on a computer screen for_ a reason._

_No one knew_ if Stalker was ever going to wake up.

The other part was that she lived in Brockton Bay. She'd _lived_ through the two day storm that was Hebert's trigger, and so far? She wasn't getting the impression that the storms were going to stop being a thing with her.

A terrifying thing.

She was too strong and Vista didn't think she could really handle it.

And Mike just sat there sipping his overpriced Mocha while asking her what she thought about her.

"Scary," Vista finally said and Mike gave her a smile, lifting an index finger off his cup to point.

"Bingo." He rifled through the sheets of paper in front of him. "Really strong and scary sum up what we've been seeing from the public. And that's not a good combo. The only way to make it worse is if she's convicted of something."

There was a moment of silence.

"She's going to get convicted, isn't she?" Vista deadpanned.

Eidolon sighed. "It's complicated."

Well that was not okay.

Mike snorted. "That's a good way to put it. Point is, we want you all to be briefed up front on what this is going to ask of you. We'll be doing our damnest to make it work - ah, here we go." He held up the drawing. It was a group picture, all done in bright, inspiring colors. Vista immediately noticed herself in the lineup with a new costume, one that didn't make her look like a little kid in a dress. It was a clean, professional look with body armor and a full helmet. It kept the color scheme of her current uniform but it looked nothing like her.

And at the same time, everything like her.

There was nothing in that costume that said Missy Biron. It wasn't until she saw it that she realized it was everything she wanted.

"It's going to be tough," Mike was saying. "But with a few press releases, some speeches and a good look, I think we can pull it off."

Avni was eyeing the drawing critically. "She was wearing something different in New Delhi."

Mike paused. "It's concept art really. We'll be finalizing it later. In the meantime, that also means training for everyone. Team maneuvers, power exploitation, defensive tactics, you name it. Looks good for the resume and we want you guys to stay alive."

"And that's my job," Eidolon cut in, sounding amused. "Hi. I'm your team leader."

And Vista's mind ground to a halt.

No pressure? Ha, how about _all the pressure?_


	19. Chapter 15

**E.L.F**

* * *

The ocean was hungry.

The Warp.

I had to remember that, no matter how strange it was. It had a name. This ocean of threads and currents that I could almost feel like an almost physical thing had a name. It had a few names. Entire civilizations risen and fallen knew what it was. It was something that had existed long before I did and would continue to exist a long time after I was gone.

Forever.

It was hungry.

According to Ulthwé, that was the natural state of things after it got fucked up a bunch once upon a time. There was a lot more to that history lesson, believe me, but that's what it boiled down to. There were wars. There was death. And there was some utterly fucked up _shit _that got reflected onto this mirror of reality so hard it cracked. The Aether, the Empyrean, the Immaterium, the Sea of Souls were all names it used to have. Some still used the older versions, but I was told it was no more correct than calling a dried riverbed a river.

There was only The Warp now.

I was learning a lot of things lately.

I turned to the right and inwardly marveled at how I could actually tell there even was a right in the Warp. I mentioned before that the ocean seemed to be a directionless location. Think of it like being in the middle of the Atlantic, several hundred feet below the surface. Deep enough where you can't look up and see sunlight on the water, just darkness. Nothing below you. Nothing to the right or left. There were only the currents.

And the sharks.

I keep making ocean metaphors. That is not going to help me remember. Then someone drops you a rope with a flashlight tied at the end. You might still not know where the fuck you are, but at least now you have a point of reference.

That was the lance of bright, golden _unlight _left behind by Scion.

I turned back to the shining melody of the Infinity Circuit and fell into the cool gray. I avoided touching anything, or _anyone_ and resolved to just wait. I didn't have to wait long. Ulthwé coalesced before me quickly. She was a shining light fading into the pale image of a very tall, thin woman with an elaborate five part braid swinging down to her knees and wearing robes covered in what I now knew to be runic designs. The most prominent rune looked a bit like an eagle carrying a drop of water in its beak when looked at one way and the hieroglyph of a crying eye when you blinked.

She tilted her head, demanding.

"Still there," I said. "Dimmer, but it feels wrong_. _Like it's making me physically ill somehow."

That flashlight from earlier? It was great and all, but I could deal with it not being made out of radioactive uranium. Maybe that was unfair. I understood why Scion felt like he had to pull that out given the mega storm threatening New Delhi, but at the same time I was not comfortable with the fact that his solution made me feel bad. The only thing that kept it from being petty to the extreme was that on top of everything else I had done to myself, that had _not_ helped. It had _really _fucked me up.

It would do that to the unprepared, apparently.

_And you are certain you have never seen the like? _She asked, sending a brief image of a skeletal machine made out of an abyssal black metal, holding some kind of device in its hands glowing with sickly green lightning.

It didn't look like anything I wanted to meet in a dark alley.

"Never," I confirmed. And then because I couldn't help myself, I asked, "Friends of yours?"

She glanced away, a corner of her lips curling even as she flicked a dismissive finger. I could almost hear the scoff. I remembered seeing something like that machine from the other souls in the Circuit, locked in battle with what I now knew to be the Eldar. I wasn't completely ignorant, but I could play at it just to annoy her. Yes, it was petty. The woman was dead. She still had the hole a spear, or maybe a large caliber bullet, that had been made at the base of her throat. Let's just say our first impressions of each other weren't great. She was dealing with what she saw as a 'mon'keigh' child, and I was dealing with an asshole.

The other ones I saw, the insect-dinosaurs? Hadn't come up. I wondered if avoidance of the subject was on purpose. I could see not wanting to talk about the aliens that killed you or your friends. I just wasn't happy knowing there were things out there that wanted to kill _me._

_Old acquaintances, _she sung with a hint of distaste. _They do not concern you._

So the avoidance _was_ on purpose.

"So you asked about them because you just felt like it?" I pointed out.

_I asked to be thorough. What use is there in pursuing irrelevant information?_

Then why did I feel like it wasn't as irrelevant as she was making it seem? I didn't have enough information to challenge that right now, so I ducked my head. I could feel my ears twitch backwards and I waved my fingers in an expression I'd seen her make before. It was something like grudging acceptance. A common enough expression she displayed around Farseer Vernasse.

Ulthwé went still. Her eyes were wide.

"What? Did I get it wrong?"

_No, _she hummed. I could hear the buried note of what I was finally beginning to isolate as wonder in her voice. _You did not._

"I do learn, you know."

_The Farseer said as much, _she sung hesitantly. She stared at me in a wide eyed expression I didn't know how to parse. _You are...fifteen years old. _The weirdness morphed into her customary frown. _I see now._

"Glad someone does." That got me a look I was infinitely more familiar with; exasperation. I gave her a tight smile in response. Of my two teachers, I preferred Iyanden. He actually wanted to teach me and seemed concerned about me as a person. Maybe I was reading too much into it, but he never talked down to me and vetoed any idea that seemed dangerous. Ulthwé taught, but not much else. I had no illusions that she wouldn't toss me to the wolves in a heartbeat where Iyanden might at least regret it. "...I want to go further, in the Warp."

_Further? _Her frown tightened. _You would risk yourself._

"Whatever Scion did, it's keeping them away." And by them, I meant daemons. The big ones. That was another long story. A really long story. "Minimal risk, so long as I do not stray too far. And I can find my way back."

_Why do you wish this?_

I hesitated. Asking for permission, and justifying it, was an odd feeling. For years, I had gotten used to doing things by myself because Mom was gone and Dad wasn't there. The past year and a half had taught me that adults in authority were at best unhelpful. The less said about my peers, the better. Dad wasn't here, but that wasn't his fault. Piggot wasn't here, and that wasn't her fault either. Iyanden was focusing on my recovery. Vernasse was keeping me contained. There was only Ulthwé. And I wanted to ask _someone_ for permission. I needed to.

I didn't trust myself anymore.

She seemed to catch herself asking again, instead deliberately raising a questioning eyebrow.

"I thought I saw something of an ...anomaly."

Ulthwé stiffened. _Explain._

I gathered my thoughts. Detailing the Warp was always going to be one of those things. I was going to have to use a water metaphor again. "Like there is a, not a hole, but a drain?"

_A drai - _Her note cut off abruptly. _Go. Report what you find._

"Know what it is?"

Ulthwé considered me, an odd quirk to her lips. _Perhaps. Only one way to be sure._

"Right," I drawled. "Fine. I'll try not to get eaten or something."

Some expression flickered through her bright, pale hazel eyes at that. I thought it was halfway between fear and resignation, but I may have been way off base.

_Yes, _she began slowly. The image of that massive crack in reality, the malevolent Eye flashed through my mind. I could feel the shadow of a burning, greedy grip closing on something inside me. Ulthwé became light as she retreated deeper into the Circuit, her last words lingering. _Please try. _

I swallowed, hard.

I could reach outside of this place. I had a living body I could return to. The Infinity Circuit was a haven for the dead. It was their afterlife. It protected them, as best as it was able. We did not know what would happen if I died. Would they linger? Would they fade? Would they move on? Because if there was something about me that was making this all possible, then maybe I was being too glib about the risks.

But Ulthwé said to go.

I bit my lip as I reached out and pulled away. It was a smooth shift of perspective and I was out among the currents and threads of the ocean once more. The Warp. Scion's golden lance shone brightly in the churning abyss. I imagined it stretching all the way across the galaxy like the light of the Anathema. Catching my own thought, I winced immediately. I shouldn't call him that. Maybe the dangers of the galaxy they lived in justified some of what I learned. Maybe.

It sounded like something out of a dark, three AM, nightmare. A nightmare that was too close for comfort. I imagined my storm over New Delhi devouring the planet, engulfing the solar system as its very own Eye of Terror.

All because of my pride.

The warning still rang in my soul.

Something moved towards me, but when I turned my attention to it, it shied away. I smiled what was probably a grim smile as I moved forward and saw the rest scatter. New Delhi had broken something in me I think, just as it had awakened something else.

I didn't know what it was.

I gathered the power that came too easily to me as I crouched down, and then I _moved._ I ignored the drifting threads that brushed against me. Now was not the time to be caught up in possible futures.

The anomaly was just like how it appeared last time. A weird drain looking ripple in the Warp where it looked like the natural currents were disrupted somehow and partially obscured. I slowed to a crawl as I approached it.

Nothing immediately jumped out at me. Wasn't sure if that said anything or not.

Here goes nothing.

I stepped within. At first, nothing changed. I cautiously explored, but found nothing. I was beginning to think that what I thought was an anomaly was just the Warp doing Warp things. Ulthwé probably knew that and this was some _overly elaborate_ lesson about assumptions and ignorance. I sighed, about to give up when my foot stepped on something. Something hard. Something that didn't shift the moment I thought about it.

_Solid._

I held my breath as I stepped _out of the Warp _into a glowing tunnel. The dimensions seemed infinite, expanding across a _horizon _and reaching upwards to a sky of scintillating light. Where the _fuck _was I?

Spooked, I turned right back around and dove into the Warp. I reached for the nearest currents, seized the closest threads and forced them to part. I projected myself just like I had over New Delhi, but instead of a sprawling metropolis I found myself on a barren rock. It was covered in fine, razor shards of gray-white sand as far as I could see and pockmarked with craters. The sky was a midnight black with a large dominating yellow star. A moment of panic saw me shift my location in a blind leap. I looked for something I recognized.

I froze when I found it.

A blue and green ball, hung like a marble in an expanse of dark space, covered in the white wisps and swirls of clouds.

I don't know how long I just stared. I traced familiar coastlines anyone could find on a globe. At some point, I had sat down. I don't know what took so long, but right there sitting down on the surface of the moon, it finally began to sink in. Everything. About galaxy spanning empires and threats. About entire worlds being discovered and lost. _Aliens_.

About how little I really knew.

Back in the Warp, Scion's golden lance still shone right above New Delhi.

The cool gray of the Infinity Circuit seemed different when I returned. It hadn't changed, just my perspective. Like before, Ulthwé coalesced before me. Unlike before, I think I saw her for what she was.

A ghost.

_What did you find? _She sung softly.

"A tunnel," I said. "A very _large_ tunnel made out of light on the dark side of the moon."

_A tunnel, _she repeated with a song of wry amusement. Her eyes were bright. A vast image pressed into my mind of an extensive network of pulsating light as if there was a heart beat and I was seeing the map of a circulatory system. Then the image shrunk and shifted, traveling down a vein until the viewpoint emerged from a glowing portal held between an arch of elegantly crafted Wraithbone. The words flashed into my mind.

_The Webway._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Feb 17th, 2011

1:07 AM

The only thing Director Emily Piggot wanted right now was a few stiff drinks in bed and a complete and total erasure of the past month and a half. Better make it the past three months just to be safe.

It would mean she would have never even _heard _of the name Taylor Hebert.

"I am not telling you this to be difficult, or because I am not on your side, Mr. Hebert," Emily said. It was a bald faced lie. She was _absolutely_ trying to be difficult, and the side of a grieving recently triggered father at a very high risk for doing something stupid was not one she was eager to take chances on. "It is your right to be there as her guardian. But I need you to consider not just what your options are, but _Taylor's_."

Danny Hebert winced. The green eyes his daughter inherited were lined with exhaustion and constantly shifting, seeing something only he could see.

"I should be there when she wakes up," he repeated stubbornly. "Not some - "

"Government employee?" Emily finished for him.

He gave her a sheepish smile, squeezing on the blue stress ball in his fist. "I was going to say law enforcement."

"I know," she replied dryly.

In the end, he caved thanks to the timely arrival of Heberts' parahuman liaison. It wasn't everyday a Director had to make an emergency request for a new one because your previous had been _woefully_ unfit. To the tune of a bullying campaign ending in _Maelstrom._ Kemper was something of a lucky break. The woman seemed competent, but time would tell if she wasn't just a stop gap on the way to this all blowing up in their face. Emily may not like most people, but she did understand 'not making things worse.' Even if a lot of the shit she had to deal with in her job left her with both hands tied behind her back.

She rolled her shoulders, checked the manila folder one last time, then opened the door to 621. She was greeted with a severe temperature drop as the plastic over the blown windows struggled to hold back the winter's chill. Someone had robbed a few offices of their lamps to replace the broken ceiling lights, designs ranging from art deco to a sunflower. A heart monitor made quiet, fast beeps in time to the pulsing light in Hebert's chest as her assigned Nurse gingerly removed the IV. He was an older gentleman with a neat salt and pepper beard. Emily glanced around the room for a moment, and spotted the whiteboard with the name 'Derrick' scribbled in blue after the stenciled 'Hi! Your nurse today is:'

There was a ghost in the corner.

Caduceus was eyeing it, murmuring under his breath. "That's not creepy at _all." _

It _was _creepy, and had been worth about seven pages of additional paperwork for independence.

Assault had made a joke about Hebert's family power being the ability to bury people in paperwork.

On a completely unrelated note, he had console duty for the next month.

"How are we looking?" Emily asked as she pulled up the chair and sat into it heavily. It was the typical hospital visitor's chair, blocky and hard. Suitable for holding weight but little else. For a moment, she fantasized being in her nice, comfortable, overpriced office chair.

Christ, it was one in the morning. She should be thinking about her _bed._

This job was killing her, she thought.

The medical Striker snapped up a clipboard. "Everything looks good. Numbers are within expected range given her history. I don't foresee any problems."

"Excellent," Emily said with a sharp smile. "Now tell that to the ghost."

The cape blanched. "...are you serious?"

"Yup," Derrick replied, popping the p. He placed a careful bandaid on Hebert's wrist and began to wrap up the tubing. "Independent."

Caduceus floundered for a good twenty seconds before he found his balls.

"Hi, Taylor's ghost," was his cringe inducing opener. "I'm Caduceus and I'm a cellular time manipulator. I - uh," He made a pained expression. "Reverse time on a micro scale, can only do organic material. I can heal her." He gestured to the girl on the bed and rushed through the rest. "DoIhaveyourpermission?"

The ghost opened its pale eyes. Caduceus froze under the hard stare.

"_Demonstrate." _It said simply.

His mouth worked for a moment. "O-okay. Um."

He turned to Emily.

"No," she said.

"Just a cut - "

She stared him down. "No."

He turned to Derrick. The nurse took one look at the cape's pleading expression and let out an explosive sigh. "Be right back then."

The ghost's very aware gaze followed the man out of the room. There was nothing comfortable about the projection, which meant it fit Taylor Hebert's repertoire perfectly. "_You refuse yourself as an example?"_

"Manton limited," he replied. Hebert's construct raised a questioning eyebrow. "Ahh, power doesn't work on myself, only others...I'm explaining things to a ghost," he said as if having an epiphany.

The man was an idiot.

It hummed in response.

Derrick returned, blue gloves on his hands as he ripped open the small plastic casing of a hypodermic needle. Then he stopped, glancing down at those same hands. He tore the left glove off.

"Habit." He braced his hand on the tray attached to the bed and easily located a vein on the side of his wrist. When the needle withdrew, it bled profusely. He showed it off, wiping at it with gauze.

Caduceus laughed before reaching over, making sure everything was in the construct's line of sight and then pinching the man's wrist between two fingers for a moment. Emily saw the construct's eyes narrow at the small distortion accompanying Caduceus' power that appeared and disappeared in the blink of the eye. "All good."

Derrick swiped the area with the gauze again, then squeezed at the loose skin there. Not a drop of blood emerged.

"_How does this ability work?"_

"Uh?" Caduceus blinked. "Reverses time on a micro scale…?"

"_How?" _It stressed the word. "_By what means is the skein of time reversed? That will determine what effect it will have on my charge. Micro-wormholes linking past and present?" _Every word saw Caduceus' eyes behind his green visor grow wider. "_A merge of alternate timelines? Infusing energy to reverse entropy?"_

Emily blinked.

_Shit._

The _fuck _kind of projection was this?

"I -" Caduceus knuckled the side of his face for a moment. "Okay. I am aware of the cellular makeup of organic material I touch," he said carefully. "When I use my power, I can see the effects of aging, cumulative damage and injury on a timeline, going backwards. I chose when to stop the reversal."

The projection blinked slowly. "_How easily you use what you do not understand…"_

Because that's what Taylor Hebert needed. A mouthy ghost projection.

It rankled.

Because it was true.

They knew the 'what' of parahuman abilities. The 'how' of it were mainly educated guesses made after testing by people with degrees in physics, mathematics, chemistry, biology… but even then sometimes they threw up their hands and gave their best guess.

And there was nothing for the _why?_

They would use it. They had to.

Emily would _never _trust it.

"I've _been_ through the testing," Caduceus said stiffly. "I _am_ a medically trained professional. It will work."

"_It will," _the construct allowed and it closed its eyes.

"Are - " Caduceus started hesitantly. "Are we good?" There was no answer. "I think we're good?" Still nothing. "We're good."

"Then let's get this over with," Emily said.

Caduceus approached the bed slowly and when the ghostly spear didn't make a move for him, he reached out and gingerly pressed fingers to the underside of Taylor Hebert's wrist. The distortion that appeared around the girl's body was unsettlingly like the video's Emily had seen of Grey Boy's victims. Victims the cape before her could help, if he could ever touch them. The distortion was a blue-shifted grayish blur that did nothing to hide how startlingly red her blood was.

Her burn wounds reopened as the scabbing and scarring vanished, soaking through the medical gauze, before the burns rapidly began to close. The toes that had been blown clear off her right foot abruptly reappeared as the burns cleared on her feet, traveling up her legs. Her missing fingers similarly found themselves. As the burns cleared her face, Emily knew that behind her eyelids, the girl once more had her father's green eyes.

And Taylor Hebert woke with a gasp.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Feb 17th, 2011

1:44am 

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Emily Piggot's voice was the first thing I heard. The woman would never know just how right she was.

I laid there for a moment longer, taking stock. The pain being gone was the first thing I noticed. There wasn't even a hint of it, meaning I had been completely and totally healed. I was in a bed with a partial incline and everything smelled significantly less than I was used to. An attempt at sterility? I was in a hospital. My first thought was 'How was Dad going to pay for all this?' My second thought remembered all those papers we had signed putting me on the PRT's payroll. We _should _have health insurance. Did it cover having Panacea heal me? It was Amy, right?

I wiggled all ten of my toes and then did my fingers. Everything was accounted for. Did that mean…? I slowly opened my eyes.

"Woah," I heard someone, a masculine voice exclaim. "Were they like that before?"

Everything was in that same supernatural crisp focus it had been since I came out of my locker. The hospital ceiling was a cream color and the light bulbs directly above me were broken. I had a feeling I knew how that had happened. I swung my gaze around and found Emily Piggot in a chair by the door, an older man in hospital scrubs digging a blood pressure cuff out and another man in a green and white costume with a green visor smiling hesitantly at me.

"Before?" I croaked and swallowed, trying to get rid of the frog. I found Farseer Vernasse in the corner near me. _Thank you, _I sent to her along with all of the gratitude I could muster. She didn't exactly smile, but I could see some subtle tension in her expression ease. She became a white mist that flowed back into the spirit stone embedded in my sternum.

"They weren't," Piggot said, an exasperated expression on her face. Her dyed blonde hair was showing a lot of brown at the roots and she looked tired. I fought down the guilt and instead looked back at the cape hero. His costume reminded me of a knight with white armored sections underneath the green tabard. The two twisting snakes around a winged rod were prominent on his chest. His green visor covered most of his face, but was more transparent around his eyes.

"They glow," he said bluntly, but his smile had strengthened. "Don't worry, it's a cool effect."

"You're about due for testing anyway," Emily Piggot said with absolutely no humor. "Thank you, Caduceus. We can get you a PRT escort - "

"I'll take a cab, don't worry about it."

"Mind if we take your vitals?" My nurse murmured to me as he held up the blood pressure cuff. I wordlessly held out my arm. The scratch of my clothes on my skin was almost distracting. It was hard to keep track of time in the Warp, and it wasn't like the Infinity Circuit had a clock either.

"What's the date?" I asked.

"February 17th," Piggot answered.

Felt like longer.

"Thank you," I made sure to say before I had a thermometer stuck in my mouth. After testing my eyes with a penlight, my nurse packed up. He handed me a cord with a bulbous end. It had a big red button.

"The call light if you need anything, alright?"

Piggot stuck around, waiting patiently until it was just the two of us. She lifted the manila folder she held and let it drop with a quiet smack, before heaving herself out of her chair. She offered me her hand and I stared at it.

"Well, congratulations," she said as I shook it. "You did us all a service. If I may be frank, good fucking job on Leviathan."

That monster would never kill anyone ever again, but it didn't seem to matter. I knew the fatalities for the Endbringer battle were likely smaller than it had ever been, but it didn't seem to matter. I knew New Delhi wouldn't be quarantined. I knew I changed the future. I knew I had proved that we still had hope.

I killed Leviathan by convincing a boy to kill himself. That would haunt me for the rest of my life.

My smile felt like a lie.

"I already broke the news to your father, you can expect at minimum a five billion dollar -" I choked on air. " - share of the bounty to be paid for the Endbringer." I'm a _billionaire? _"The President himself has expressed an interest in thanking you personally on behalf of the United States and WEDGDG has been coordinating similar offers from other countries. India is at the top of that list."

My mind spun on an axis.

New Hampshire wanted in on that, with the Governor asking after me and Brockton Bay's mayor didn't want to be left out. Apparently neither did _Legend _and Director Costa-Brown. There was some rumbling about maybe a Nobel Prize, a national holiday, and at the end of it, I had to just kind of sit there, overwhelmed. I don't know why I didn't expect it. No one has managed to kill an Endbringer for literally decades and that wasn't for lack of trying. Maybe it was because I didn't feel like celebrating.

"Okay," I eventually managed to say. "Okay." Once my brain started working again, I pinched the bridge of my nose. "That's the good news."

Piggot gave me this wry smile. "That's the good news," she confirmed.

"And the bad?"

The bad news was the manila folder. The first page within said it all.

Manslaughter. Assault with parahuman ability. Kidnapping. Totaling over four hundred charges. My stomach sank through the floor.

Yeah. That was about what I had been expecting.

"If anyone asks," Piggot said in a mild tone of voice. "You got this information on your own without assistance." She turned the page for me.

"A plea bargain," I breathed. I saw Eidolon's name. I quickly put two and two together. "A show trial?"

"Less of one than some might like," Piggot admitted, "You will be arrested, likely held on bail, but we can guarantee a private hearing without the media. We're already making the arrangements for the plea deal and we know the judge. The real question is, will you cooperate?"

"Yes," I said immediately. The truth was, I didn't think they could stop me if I said no. I don't think they could stop me if I changed my mind. But I _had _done what I was accused of. And I wanted to be a hero. "I will."

Piggot let out a small sigh of relief. "The Chief Director would like to hear your _thoughts -" _I read between the lines. Use my powers. " - about it after you're discharged."

I skimmed through the rest of the pages, trusting my memory before reaching out to the Warp. The papers and manila folder disintegrated in my hands. I brushed the dust off my sheet as Piggot raised an eyebrow.

"Yup," was all she said.

"What would have done if I said no?" I had to ask. It was pretty risky for her to deliver the news herself. Risky, but it showed her resolve.

"I would have let you walk," Piggot checked her watch. "Then filled out resignation papers."

Both of my eyebrows rose and the woman smiled.

"I'm a government employee," she said. "Not _stupid."_

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

February 17th, 2011

9:28am

The door finished closing behind me with a tiny click and all of the sounds I had gotten used to with my improved hearing muffled into a dull drone. If 'Need to Know' had an interior design, I was looking at it. I crossed over to the dark wood desk facing the large screen and tapped on the button prompting me to connect to PRT, LA.

"Ah," The Chief Director of the PRT, Rebecca Costa-Brown said as soon as her image appeared. "Right on time."

The last time I saw her, she had been wearing Alexandria's costume with blood trickling out of her nose.

"What have you got for me, Farseer?"

I clasped my hands together.

"Heartbreaker," I said, then took a breath. "Then Nilbog."


	20. Chapter 16

_**E.L.F**_

* * *

March 8th, 2011

1:26pm

"That," Dad drawled from the computer screen. "Was not subtle."

"Good," I said as I held the red synthetic gem in my hands up to the focused light of my workbench lamp. I paid close attention to the glimmer where the light bounced within the tiny channels etched into the crystal. The flaws jumped out at me immediately, tiny imperfections in the design that grated on what I was beginning to suspect was mild OCD. It wasn't anything that would ruin the project, I didn't think, but I could do better. "I was not trying to be subtle."

"I thought the plan was to cooperate?" He scratched at the growing stubble on his cheek. His hair had gotten longer in the 'needs to be cut' kind of way and the bags under his eyes were very noticeable now that he no longer needed his glasses. I noticed the wrinkles in his shirts and how he had at least three cups of coffee every morning. I had yet to say anything about it.

"I am cooperating," I said. "I just want it to be very obvious how very inconvenient I could be if anyone got the idea to screw me over."

"By making the test equipment bleed?" Dad asked dryly.

I shrugged helplessly. "Yes?"

Everything was fun and games learning how to control computers with my mind until they started screaming. That had not been in the plan, but apparently the Warp thought otherwise. I wasn't going to admit it though. The only thing worse than putting a few hundred thousand dollars of machinery through a containment cycle on purpose was doing it on accident.

"If this bites you in the ass…" He warned.

"It could," I admitted. "But it won't."

My father gave me an exasperated sigh. "Taylor…"

I set my crystal down and made sure to look him in the eyes. "Dad, I could hide shit. I could, but what's the point? My rating means they expect me to be able to do anything and they'll get paranoid about it. This way, they think they know and that's less…"

"Alarming?" He finished for me.

"Yes." I shrugged with one shoulder. "I _am _cooperating."

We fell into that kind of awkward silence where the conversation wasn't over, but neither of us wanted to continue it. That was how it had been between us these past two weeks since I came out of my self-induced coma. All that progress? Gone. And it was my fault. I didn't know how to apologize for _everything _and he didn't know how to confront the girl that helped kill Leviathan. We both had super powers and the irony was that we were right back to where we started. A broken family.

"Who is it now?" I said, just to say something. "Miss Militia, right?"

"Yeah," Dad groaned, rubbing his hand on his face. He tried to smile, but it didn't come out right. He looked a bit haunted. "Perfect recall ain't what it's cracked up to be."

"Retroactive?" I asked and he nodded. I winced. All the little things you thought you forgot, hoped you forgot, _wanted _to forget in perfect clarity didn't sound great. Not with what we've been through and lost. I could only go back as far as the locker, but if Dad could remember everything from _years _ago? "It doesn't go away when you let the power go, does it?"

"Unfortunately." He looked away and I knew why he hadn't been sleeping.

Mom.

"You should say something," I tried. "Cycling works in theory, but they don't know you keep the effects."

"Only some of them, brain stuff," Dad said dismissively. "I need to get used to it anyway, it's fine."

And he shut me down.

"Vista seemed nice," I blurted out, anything to keep him talking.

"Yeah." He palmed his face again. "Yeah, they're good kids, the Wards. Not like - " He swallowed hard and looked down. "You know."

I did know.

I bit my lip and cast about for another topic.

"Look, I - " Dad cleared his throat. "Armsmaster put in a request for help I should get around to, probably looking over some designs for things. It shouldn't take long," he offered.

Dad was escaping. That was something I had gotten used to him doing the past two years. "Okay."

He tried to smile again. "Finish eating, don't get caught up on that spear."

"Promise." I bit my tongue as the video conference call disconnected. My mind immediately flashed out to the Warp. That could have gone better. It _should _have gone better. The least I could have done was get into his head, follow his thoughts to have a better idea of what landmines I was tripping over. I could have peeked into our immediate future for a better way like I'd done before. What if I had offered to _fix _his power, make it better? Change it? Then he could -

And the ease with which I was thinking about using my powers on my Dad _again _made my stomach scrunch into a little ball.

I needed a break.

I dropped my crystal ball into the bowl on my desk where it rolled around with the other has-beens of today, crystal orbs of blue, green and red each humming a low note only I could hear. My lab on the Rig hadn't really changed. The back wall was still covered in wraithbone with its metal scaffolding. My unfinished jetbike dominated the floor space, tilted on its side to expose the hollow underbelly. The slabs of crystal were still on my desk next to papers covered in scribbled schematics of everything from tanks to pistols. The few tools I had, mostly for measurements, were still scattered all over the floor around the bike shell. I nudged my stylus away from the edge of the desk and stood up. I felt something on my head tilt.

"Oh right," I muttered as I plucked my notebook off the top of my head. How long had it been balanced there? I wondered. I set that on top of my drawing tablet and picked my way across the room to the set of counters holding my lunch.

Southwest style chicken salad and orange juice from some family run restaurant Dad had found. I hadn't always liked fruit drinks, but I tried soda. I was no longer a fan. My salad smelled alright, just the residual chemicals of whatever the lettuce had gone through barely making it through the scent of free range chicken. I wouldn't call it a diet, but in the interest of staying out of the hospital, I was avoiding everything that smelled a bit too funny. If it wasn't for the fact that I was still an All American carnivore, I would have gone completely organic and vegan.

There was a joke somewhere in there about elves that I hated myself for acknowledging.

I tried to focus on eating. I really did. Something in my head wouldn't let the temptation to do something go. I could reach around the world, down the hall and a few rooms away was nothing. No one would have to know. I was half-convinced that I could fix it, even though I knew I couldn't. Not like that. It was stupid and it could probably wait until tonight while my body slept, but I reached into the Infinity Circuit anyway. The familiar cool pulse of Farseer Vernasse's awareness came through. I reached further, grasping that melancholic note I had come to associate with her.

_How do you stop yourself from always looking into the possible futures?_

From changing things, because I can? How do I let things be? How do I stop myself? There were a lot of questions I wanted to ask, but something held me back. I didn't want to seem irrational or erratic. I didn't want to seem vulnerable. I guess I was afraid. Afraid that something I said or did would prove I was 'too human' after all, and I would be left alone again.

_How do you stay in the present?_

And the Farseer's voice chimed a clear, cold note. "_I don't."_

_What? _I sent back in astonishment. _Never?_

She didn't respond.

I refused to let that silence get to me, switching track to think about the implications instead. If she was always half-absent, half here and half ahead, what did that mean? Was that why she even bothered with me? Something I would do or become in the future making the effort worth it? Did she even know or was it still hazy, too many variables and too many choices to see clearly?

I thought about how it would be to live like that. To always be working some kind of future angle, unable to appreciate the present because the future was always changing. It would be lonely, wouldn't it? Your body walked the same streets as everyone else, but you've already left them behind. I guess then it wouldn't matter how many of them fell along the way. It would be easy, I thought. To write them off.

What else could they be, than just variables?

Even if the future you worked towards was _better, _it was still wrong to think like that, wasn't it?

Wasn't it?

I slowly made my way through my lunch, finishing off the juice and diverting from the chicken in favor of grapes. The door beeped, letting me know that someone had just used their keycard to let themselves in. I turned in time to see a few PRT squad troopers dart into the room, taking up positions in the empty spaces. They were quick, clean, professional and emotionally jumpier than rabbits in a butcher shop.

Following them was one of Brockton Bay's adult superheroes.

I'd seen him before in the papers or on TV in his red body armor and visor on the upper half of his face. At the time, he had been one of the more personable heroes. He seemed like the kind of guy that always had a smile for every situation. He wasn't smiling now.

"Hey kid," Assault said. "Orders came through. No hard feelings, right?"

You could cut the tension with a knife. And if I let it, I could see that it would only fester. So I shrugged one shoulder, a half-smile on my face as I held up my grapes.

"Can I finish my lunch first?"

Assault blinked.

"Really?" Then he laughed. I could see the way his body language changed, loosening. "We can do that, right guys?"

In response the troopers shifted, some lowering the barrels of their foam sprayers a hair. "Your call," one of them said.

I could feel the minute changes in the Warp, as some futures shifted closer, becoming more real. It was subtle and fragile, but having that control made me feel better. I plucked off the last few grapes and looked at my chicken. I sighed.

Alright then.

Guess it was time to get arrested.

* * *

March 10th, 2011

9:44am

I have now officially come full circle. After a round trip to the federal courthouse in Concord, New Hampshire I was once again in the PRT holding cells, sitting on the bed with an issued laptop looking over the news. They were replaying clips of the Winslow Storm in the background as the talking heads went over my arrest as everything and anything was suddenly relevant again. Including related arrests. I didn't know how I would feel, hearing that Emma had been cooling her heels for the better part of a month by now. There was definitely some schadenfreude for well earned misery, but the rest felt ephemeral. A highschool bully was finally experiencing some consequences.

I helped kill Leviathan. That would put anything into perspective.

This time around, Dad was in my cell with me, nursing a straight black coffee and wincing every time something he didn't like hearing came over the laptop's speakers.

"They are never going to get tired of you, are they?" He asked.

"The media?" I clarified as I started another video. "Nope." There was another megathread on PHO, I noted idly. That sounded like _loads _of fun. "Avoid PHO."

Dad sighed.

"What are they saying?" He asked, as if I would tell him to avoid it just to blab anyway.

I gave him a look. "Avoid it."

"Alright!" He held up his hands, and coffee, in surrender.

The intercom gave a sharp crackle.

"Hebert?" A male voice I didn't recognize said. I reached out with my mind, just enough to brush under the ripples their presence caused. PRT agent? "You've got a visitor."

Dad sat up in his chair. "Lawyer?"

"A one Alan Barnes?" The man responded.

Dad hissed, standing up as his coffee cup crinkled in his hands. "_Lawyer."_

Alan Barnes. My first reaction was a lot like my father's. Emma's dad had a lot of nerve showing up wanting to talk to me after his daughter shoved me in that locker. My second reaction wondered _why? _What did he stand to gain from this? Did he somehow think I could influence his daughter's upcoming trial? Was he going to threaten to influence mine?

I was asking these questions, but I knew how to get the answers. I reached out for the Warp, and sifted through the threads. A third option presented itself. I could use him, I thought. Not now, but later down the line?

He was going to remember everything he hadn't told the police. He was going to make sure Emma was put away for a very long time and Stalker for even longer. He was going to make Madison's life miserable.

And he was going to thank me for it.

"Is he expected?" The agent asked hesitantly.

"No," I said. "But it's fine. I can meet with him."

My father turned to me, face scrunched up in this incredulous look. "Taylor, it's _Alan."_

"I am aware," I said dryly.

"Do you have _any _idea - "

"He can't do anything to me," I cut him off before he got worked up. Before he said something he would regret later. "Dad, _they _can't do anything to me." He was my father. Worrying about me was part of what fathers do, even if it was overblown. But it was going to cause problems. Now. Soon. Later. "You're worried about me and I get that. This is - _everything, _it's a lot." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Too much. But you are not helping when you're like this."

He raised his voice. "I'm _trying - "_

"You are failing." He reeled back and I felt the sympathetic spike of self-loathing bite deep. I released it into the Warp. "You need to sleep more. Take a week off not doing any work for anyone. No Union, no powers."

I could hear it in his mind when it sunk in what I was saying.

_Still useless._

The tentative name for him was Board, a Trump that could take on thinker powers from any other parahuman in his range. Except for the one parahuman they were really hoping he could copy.

But then, I wasn't a parahuman.

"Hebert?" Came over the intercom again. "Your lawyer is here as well. Priority?"

"Lawyer first, Mr. Barnes later," I said as I put the laptop on the bed. I glanced over at Dad's slumped figure. "Let me go?"

He nodded miserably. He knew what I was really asking. "Okay, kiddo. I'll try."

The door opened with the electronic clicks and beeps. I held out my arms for the cuffs.

"Mr. Hebert?" The trooper called around me.

"Yeah." Dad walked out of the room ahead of me, dumping his cup of coffee in the nearest trash can. "Let's get this show over with."

My lawyer was a shorter black woman dressed how lawyers on TV dressed, in a sharp dark-skirted suit complete with a black tie and expensive looking watch. Her short, frizzy hair was dyed an orange color and her hazel eyes missed nothing behind slim wire frame glasses. She shook my hand calmly.

"Hello again, holding up alright?" Her name was Arlene Grayson and she had a very calm, unruffled emotional map. Her thoughts were similarly practical. She was on my side, because the numbers worked out.

I was worth millions of people.

"Yes." Dad echoed me as we sat down at the square table. The visiting room was a bland four walls and a ceiling kind of space. One of the fluorescent lights by the door flickered and I was sure there was monitoring equipment installed somewhere. I could hear the electronic humming of something in the walls at certain spots. Cameras?

"I'm trying to look at it like you said. These - " I held up my cuffed wrists. "Are a positive."

"They are," Arlene said as she opened her briefcase. "Most in your situation would find themselves in full restraints, straitjacket, automated devices, ball and chain, the kitchen sink."

Extreme feel-good measures that wouldn't do anything. I saw one future with a repurposed collar, the kind they usually wore when facing the Simurgh with the time limit removed, but a trigger installed. It was a distant future, but not so distant as to have been impossible. The fact that it reminded me of what I've been told of the Imperium made seeing that possibility worse.

"PRT is good for something," Dad joked weakly.

"It's a bit of an odd situation, working _with _the PRT on the defense," Arlene allowed. "Usually they would be the prosecution."

"Too useful to sit in a cell," I said. Dad winced.

Arlene's eyes cut to me for a moment, before she inclined her head. "Unfortunately, we're still looking at a two month timeline for the proceedings, even with time not being waived." She preempted Dad's question. "Ah, there is a sixty day limit on when trials must take place, ignoring everything else."

"Is there - " Dad grimaced. "Is there anything we can fight here?"

"The kidnapping charges," she replied immediately. She rifled through the papers in her briefcase, finding what she was looking for with a snap of her wrist. "The basis is rather weak circumstantial evidence, I suspect it will be dropped before the second hearing. Private flight dropped out of contact in roughly the same time period."

"It won't be a problem," I said quietly. That I could see clearly.

Arlene paused. "I'll take your word for it."

"And my other option is pleading guilty, right?" I asked.

She nodded. "A No Contest or Guilty plea would expedite things, right up to the sentencing. Or…"

"Plea bargain?" Dad asked. He was clenching his fists rhythmically and I knew none of this could be good for his blood pressure. "Making some kind of deal for a lighter sentence?"

"As you said," my lawyer stated with a small, grim smile. "Too useful for a cell."

She didn't know about the deal the PRT was putting together. But she suspected.

"How much can I push for?"

"House arrest is unlikely," Arlene said. "Even if the charges didn't paint you as a violent offender - "

"I - " I moved to protest immediately.

_Sophia._

I closed my mouth.

" - part of the usual provisions is whether or not you are able to maintain the cost of your internment," She continued as if I hadn't said anything. "If you can reasonably 'imprison' yourself. And given your powers, the answer is no."

I wasn't sure if even the _Birdcage_ could imprison me. No one else was either.

Dad ran a hand through his hair. "Cuffs and a tracking bracelet not enough, huh?"

"No," was the bland reply. "As far as the 'light touch' goes, this is it."

And just like that, I could feel a future _crystallize. _Suddenly I knew how it was all going to work. I knew where I could guide events. I could see it. I must have jerked in my chair or something, because when I pulled away from the future, both my dad and my lawyer were staring at me.

"Does the PRT's light touch extend to _where _I'm imprisoned?"

"By my understanding of the situation, upon incarceration you would qualify as a Category A prisoner. Someone who is an extreme risk to national security in the event of an escape." She sighed. "Sitting in a county jail is not an option."

"You want...to transfer?" Dad asked slowly. "Out of the Bay?" His eyes darted back and forth. "LA?"

"Out of the country," I said.

My lawyer slowly closed her eyes. "How big of a spectacle are we talking about here?"

"Massive," I said unapologetically. "Most in my situation wouldn't just be in cuffs, right? I want to be treated fairly, no special treatment. This?" For emphasis I reached into the Warp and tore my cuffs to atoms. "This does nothing."

To her credit, Arlene Grayson barely reacted to the show of force. She lifted a finger from the table, then dropped it. "You do understand the only facility eligible aside from PRT holdings is the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center?"

"I don't need to go that far." I leaned forward in my chair. "I just need Dragon."

Arlene raised an eyebrow. "I would advise against assault with a parahuman ability."

"Dragon is invisible to me, I can't see her. My Master rating? Useless."

"And this is on record?" Arlene asked to confirm.

I thought back to that meeting that seemed like it was forever ago, with Dad and the directors of the PRT officers around the country. "Yes."

She thought it over. "The request would have to go through the judge and prosecution, we can work on the wording." She smiled her little grim smile again. "Do I want to know _why_ you want harsher imprisonment?"

"_In Canada?_" Dad echoed.

_Dragon _was the one my Master power wouldn't work on. Everyone else was fair game.

"I follow the news," I said. "I know what they are saying. The court of public opinion is…" I searched for the word. "Contentious. Brockton Bay is ground zero. I need to get away from that. I want to make as good a showing as possible, even if it's uncomfortable. I can handle it."

I wouldn't have to worry about how I was going to get to Nikos Vasil.

I was going to make him come to me.

All he needed was a little push.


End file.
